


the twelve dates of christmas

by childhoodinfamy



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-15
Updated: 2014-12-22
Packaged: 2018-03-01 10:44:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 24,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2770133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/childhoodinfamy/pseuds/childhoodinfamy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve and Bucky meet at Tony Stark's formal Christmas party. Where they're both wearing ugly Christmas sweaters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. sunday, december 14, 2014

**Author's Note:**

> one time, sar and i were talking about holiday aus and we decided to go full cheesy on this sweater au. ten days of planning (ten straight days. we know the dog's name. we know what underwear bucky wears. we always know what underwear bucky wears) and one very ambitious plan later, we had the twelve dates of christmas au.  
> rating for later chapters. i promise.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky gives him a smile that he hopes says, “Hi, you’re attractive and we’re both idiots. Let’s talk, please save me, I’m begging you,” and not “Hi, I’ve got spinach in my teeth.” Or: Steve and Bucky meet.

He should have read the invite. He shouldn’t have thrown it away. He should have assumed Pepper would make him go. He should have assumed it would be a formal event. He should not have worn his light-up Christmas tree sweatervest to a Tony Stark Christmas party, and he should have left the instant he walked in the door and saw the sea of suits and gowns.

But there’s a considerable spread of food a mere ten feet away, just waiting to be eaten, so he makes his way to the appetizers and refuses to be cowed by the other guests’ looks of disbelief. He’s gotten worse before.

He’s planning to exchange pleasantries with Pepper and make his escape by nine. He really is.

And yet.

The man who walks into Tony’s penthouse is wearing a sweater almost as ugly as Bucky’s, and he looks about ten times as lost. He enters with a woman. She’s short, with red hair and a teasing smile directed at Bucky’s fellow ugly sweater-wearer—but she quickly abandons him. Bucky stares until the man meets his eyes, and Bucky gives him a smile that he hopes says, “ _Hi, you’re attractive and we’re both idiots. Let’s talk, please save me, I’m begging you,”_ and not “ _Hi, I’ve got spinach in my teeth.”_ He figures he was at least halfway successful because the guy is making his way over and—okay, he’s a lot more attractive than Bucky originally budgeted for. That sweater probably wasn’t made to be that indecently tight. Not that Bucky’s complaining.

After bumping into a few guests on his way over (Bucky can see him apologizing to every one of them) the man is at Bucky’s side.

“I’m glad I’m not the only idiot here,” the man says. “Should have assumed it would be formal, I guess.”

“Speak for yourself. This sweater is my most formal attire.”

“Oh?”

“I mean, I usually wear my Santa sweater to fancy parties, but it’s at the dry cleaner’s.”

“Of course. Santa is far fancier than a tree.”

“Everyone knows that.” And this guy is attractive and he’s funny, and he’s an idiot. But Bucky’s an idiot, too, so maybe it isn’t so crazy. “I’m Bucky, by the way.”

“Steve Rogers.” He’s got a nice smile, Steve. It’s young.

“Nice to meet you, Steve Rogers, fellow idiot.”

It doesn’t take a lot of effort to talk to Steve. Steve is funny. He smiles frequently, and he’s wearing khakis in what appears to be an unironic fashion, which Bucky finds far too amusing for his own good. They pass the time eating appetizers and making up stories for the other guests' lives. As Steve narrates, Bucky supplies the dialogue, trying to make use of the plethora of silly voices he’s built up over the years. The woman in the red dress is a proctologist with a tiny yippy dog, and her date speaks in a low British accent.

They successfully avoid talking to anyone else until there’s someone at Steve’s shoulder. Bucky recognizes her as the woman Steve walked in with, and Steve immediately introduces her. “Bucky, this is Natasha. The reason why I came to this party,” he adds. And _oh, so is she—_ “Not as a date,” Steve adds quickly. Bucky wonders briefly if Steve just saw the panic in Bucky’s eyes or if he actually wanted Bucky to know that detail.

“Nice sweater,” she says to Bucky, flatly, and then, “Steve, I’m taking off in a few minutes—did you want to come?”

“Uh,” Steve starts, and he glances at Bucky, and maybe Bucky’s crazy, but it almost seems like— ”No, I think I’ll stay for a little while longer.”

Natasha raises an eyebrow. “Suit yourself,” she says.

And as she leaves, Bucky has this _idea_ , and he’s not sure how well it’ll go over, but he’s been talking to Steve for well over an hour now, and it’s been easy. It’s been easy, and Steve is stunning. Steve is stunning, and he’s sick of this party and he wants to leave and eat real food but he certainly doesn’t want to leave Steve, who is amazing in every sense of the word. He’s about to say something, but Steve beats him to it.

“Do you want to go get some actual food?” he asks, looking at Bucky from under his eyelashes, his smile lopsided, hands in pockets and shoulders up by his ears, like maybe if he scrunches himself up small enough, he can forget that he just asked Bucky out. “It’s okay if you don’t want to, I just don’t actually like Tony’s parties and this food has too much kale in it, and I was just thinking—”

“You trying to get me outta this sweater, Rogers?”

Steve blushes then, and it’s the first time Bucky sees it. He wishes the lighting were better. It’s a good blush.

Bucky is merciful, though. “I’m just kidding. Yeah, real food sounds great, I’m starving.”

“We’ve been eating for the entire last hour.”

“And yet.”

“And yet.”

So they grab their coats and make their way to the door, and they bump shoulders on the way out, and if it feels like Bucky’s stomach has been filled with helium--well, no one has to know.

-

It’s snowing outside, and Bucky’s coat isn’t even close to warm enough. He’s shivering. His feet are starting to get soaked through, but the flakes are catching in Steve’s hair and his impossible eyelashes and it’s all tinted gold by the streetlights and his arm is drifting against Bucky’s just often enough to be intentional, and Bucky thinks maybe he can deal with the cold.

They go to a diner only a few blocks away because it’s close and they have all-day breakfast. It’s quiet there, but there’s music playing in the background so the brief lapse in conversation while they sit isn’t silent, and Bucky’s glad because he’s not sure what he’d blurt if it were silent.

“You’re beautiful, can I kiss you?” is a definite contender.

Bucky only takes ten seconds to pick his order (pancakes, extra chocolate chips) so he watches Steve deliberate over the various forms of eggs. Bucky likes the pull of his eyebrows. Likes that Steve is focusing as though breakfast is a fine science.

Once they’ve placed their orders, Bucky starts, “You know, it’s weird that we’ve never met before if we both know Tony, considering how many times a year these shindigs happen.”

“Yeah, I don’t usually go to those parties.”

“No?”

“Too many people. Nat is the only person there I actually know, so I usually keep my distance.”

“Fair enough. I clearly haven’t been to many either, if I still think it’s acceptable to show up in an ugly Christmas sweater.” Bucky goes to stretch his leg under the table, but Steve’s knee is in the way, and when his jeans brush against Steve’s khakis, he can feel his lungs constrict and his head rush. _Well. Okay._ He hurries to apologize—”Oh, I’m sorry”—but Steve’s already pulling his legs back and issuing his own apologies.

Bucky thinks for a fraction of a second that maybe Steve didn’t feel the breathlessness he did, but it’s not long before Steve’s legs are stretching back out, this time more strategically, if also hesitantly, placed. Bucky grins at him and hooks a leg around Steve’s so they can be well and truly tangled under the table, so that Steve knows that he meant it.

-

Bucky likes that Steve blushes at that. He likes that he doesn’t move his legs away.

-

The dinner goes by quickly, far more so than Bucky would like. They talk about everything and nothing, and Bucky uses the pauses between topics to settle his heartbeat. Steve has a way of making time seem liquid, like Bucky can swim through it at a million different paces. He’s been sprinting tonight. Not because he wanted it to be over, but because he felt like that was the best way to experience the highest possible quantity of Steve Rogers.

When they walk out of the restaurant, the snow is just barely falling—still caught in Steve’s hair, still distracting, still beautiful—Bucky is hesitant to let the evening end, because he still hasn’t held Steve’s hand, he hasn’t kissed him or heard his laughter close up, he doesn’t know what Steve’s favorite color is or what he does for a living or really much of anything about Steve, but Bucky does know the crinkle of Steve’s eyes when he thinks something is funny, and he knows how Steve says his name when he’s saying _you’re ridiculous, Bucky._

He knows the important things.

So when they bundle back up in their coats and make their way outside, Bucky feels something shift inside him; it’s nerves, it’s a jumping excitement that doesn’t fade, it’s a gut feeling that tells him to ask Steve Rogers if it’s okay to grab him and never let go, because he’s not sure how he got this far without him.

He doesn’t even know Steve’s middle name, but there’s something panging in Bucky’s chest that he can’t quite ignore.

Steve looks hesitant to leave, too, and he says, “So, uh, Tony’s party is still happening, probably, if you wanted to…”

“Show up in my Christmas tree sweater twice in one night? I usually try to limit myself to one fashion faux pas per outing, and I don’t really, uh, like those parties,” Bucky says, because he doesn’t, and because he’s an idiot who doesn’t know a date when he sees one.

“Oh, yeah, okay. Maybe see you around?” And Steve’s rubbing the back of his head like he’s nervous. Nervous over Bucky, which is ridiculous. He’s beautiful, standing there. He’s beautiful and Bucky can’t stop looking.

“Yeah, definitely,” Bucky finds himself saying. ( _Yeah, and I think I really like you. I think I want to kiss you, but I’m not sure if I can, I’m not sure if you want me to, I’m not sure and I’m scared to break this night. But yeah. I think I really like you, and I want to see you more than whatever “maybe” means, I want to see you every day. Maybe that’s weird, I’m not sure, but. Yeah. I think I really like you. So—)_ “Definitely.”

“Great!” Steve says, and his smile seems a little forced (and Bucky doesn’t like that, but he likes that he can already tell). Steve shoves his thumb over his shoulder. “Well, I’m that way,” he says. “It was nice, uh…talking to you,” he says, as though maybe he’d thought it was more than talking, too. Like maybe the feeling of Bucky’s legs tangled with his is affecting him the same way it’s affecting Bucky.

 _Don’t go,_ Bucky wants to say, and _you’re beautiful and I want to remember it, I want to kiss you under this streetlight and maybe the one over there, too._ What he does say is just, “Walk safe.” His throat clamps down on the words, they come out scratchy. Even his vocal chords know that he’s being an idiot.

-

But then.

-

“Hey.”

-

Steve’s aready some twenty yards away, but he turns around immediately at Bucky's words, and his foot slides on the ice a little bit. Bucky waits until he’s righted himself and is waiting for Bucky to say something.

“Or we could just…not?” He hopes Steve understands.

-

As they walk back to Bucky’s apartment that night, he’s suddenly incredibly thankful that he never read Tony’s invitation. He’s even more glad that Steve didn’t either. Because if Steve had been wearing a suit, there is no way Bucky ever would have gotten up the courage to talk to him. But Steve didn’t wear a suit. Steve wore a Christmas cardigan bedecked with rows of festive decorations on either side of the buttons and stitched teddy bears around the wrists; he’d thrown it on over a turtleneck and called it good and showed up to the same party that Bucky had worn his own attrocious sweater to.

Bucky’s thinking about this when Steve says, “I like your sweater, by the way.”

They laugh about it.

They laugh about it, and they fall asleep that night, curled against each other on Bucky’s couch, legs still tangled and still wearing those fateful sweaters.

Bucky doesn’t know Steve’s favorite color or what he does for a living, he doesn’t know what his laughter sounds like close up or how it feels to kiss him senseless, but he thinks that maybe, if he’s lucky, he’s going to get to find out.


	2. monday, december 15, 2014: date two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Do you think my blue shirt is okay?”  
> “Which blue shirt?”  
> “The blue one,” Steve says. “Nat, the blue one.”  
> Or: Steve and Bucky don't follow the rules of dating very well.

When Steve wakes up the next morning, he’s still in his clothes, and his face is scrunched against a pillow he doesn’t recognize. There’s someone pressed against him, and Steve has a crick the size of Montana in his neck, but he doesn’t have to turn his head to know that it’s Bucky.

 _Bucky_.

Bucky, who brushed knees with him under the table and smiled at Steve like there was something there to smile about.

Steve listens to him snore for a few minutes. He’s got his one arm tucked under his head, his legs thrown into the mix with Steve’s. His clothes are all wrinkled now, and his hair isn’t combed into place anymore. Steve likes him like this. He wonders if he’s supposed to be seeing it. Sleep feels awfully intimate for someone he just met yesterday, but then they did spend the night pressed against each other.

He smiles, remembering Bucky grabbing his arm and leading him to the couch, toppling down with him; Steve had been asleep as soon as the word “goodnight” had passed his lips.

If it weren’t for his phone incessantly pinging in his pocket, Steve would stay there for hours, watching Bucky. But he reaches down and fishes the phone out, seeing that he’s got a few missed calls and thirteen new texts, all from Natasha. He opens them, trying not to jostle Bucky as he moves.

_where are you?_

_you’re with the ugly sweater guy, aren’t you?_

_you’re into him, aren’t you? he seemed like your type_

_it’s getting a little late for you, gramps_

_oh my god._

_wait_

_can it be?_

_is steve rogers getting laid??_

_who am i kidding, you’re steve rogers, of course you’re not having sex_

_but for the record, if you are, ew_

_you could do so much better_

_he’s got an okay face, but steve. his sweater lit up._

_seriously where are you_

And she was wrong, Steve could correct her, but he just sends, “Good morning!” as he extricates himself from Bucky’s arms. He has a meeting today, and he should probably shower and change before he shows up. He watches Bucky for a few more seconds before he moves away. He tells himself he’ll have Natasha look Bucky up on Facebook, at least, and that should be enough, but—

Before he can close the door, Steve walks back into Bucky’s apartment and goes to his kitchen. He marvels for a second at how neat the apartment is; he hadn’t noticed last night, but nearly everything is in place and looks like it’s been cleaned recently. There’s a notepad on the refrigerator with a marker hanging next to it, a grocery list written on the top sheet. (Frozen pizza. Coffee. Eggos.) Steve grabs the sheet under it and grabs the marker. He takes it to the counter and writes his phone number and a short message on the paper.

“Call me sometime. If you want to. Or something. Good morning!!”

He stares at the note for a moment before adding a smiley face, grabbing one of the magnet clips on the fridge, and making his way back over to Bucky, who hasn’t moved an inch since Steve first got up. Steve clips the note to the neck of Bucky’s sweater and makes his way to the door again before he can get too distracted.

He’s only made it three steps out of the apartment building when his phone goes off in his pocket. For one brief moment, he thinks maybe it’s Bucky, but it’s Natasha’s name flashing on the screen.

_oh my god you totally had sex last night didn’t you? you usually respond to every individual text_

**How was your evening, Nat?**

_steve rogers, tell me right now if you had sex with ugly sweater guy. i have to know_

**My night was great, thanks for asking!**

_you could do so much better, steve. At least tell me the sex was great_

Steve doesn’t respond to that, but it only takes a second before Natasha is texting him again.

_you probably just snuggled on his couch, didn’t you_

**He’s a good cuddler.**

_i can’t decide if that’s better or worse than hooking up with him. i actually cannot tell_

Steve just laughs, and he knows that Natasha isn’t going to drop it, but he’s almost to his apartment, and he needs to shower and get dressed for his meeting and try to focus on something other than Bucky and Bucky finding the note and Bucky entering Steve’s number into his phone.

He’s not very successful.

-

He’s walking down the street when Natasha calls him.

“Hey, Nat,” he answers.

“How about Sharon? She’s nice, and way prettier than ugly sweater guy.”

“Bucky.”

“Whatever, it doesn’t matter. Ask Sharon out.”

“No, thanks.”

“Why? She’s gorgeous.”

“Yes, she is.”

“So ask her out.”

“No, thanks.”

And that’s when Steve’s phone starts making a weird noise in his ear. He looks down, and there’s another call coming in, from a number he doesn’t recognize. He brings the phone back to his face.

“Hey, I think he might be calling me, I gotta go.”

“Oh, Steve. Oh, no. You gave him your number.”

“Bye, Nat!”

Steve hangs up, and in the process, somehow hangs up on the second call, too. He never could figure out how to switch calls. Always presses the wrong button. So he scrambles for the recent calls tab and pokes the number over and over until the call goes through. It gets picked up almost immediately.

“Hi, ignore the voicemail I just sent you.”

“Okay, hi.”

“This is Bucky, by the way.”

“I figured,” Steve says, and he’s smiling so hard it hurts. He hopes Bucky can hear it in his voice.

“Okay, smartass. Anyway, pretend it’s been three days so it’s not weird that I’m calling you right now.”

“Done.”

“Okay, great, so do you want to get breakfast?”

“It’s two in the afternoon,” Steve says, like it’s a fact, not a downside.

“Yes. Yes it is. And I think it’s breakfast time.”

Steve laughs. “Okay. Breakfast at two in the afternoon.”

“Breakfast with Steve Rogers at two in the afternoon. Exactly what I was hoping to do today.”

-

Steve doesn’t stop by home to change out of his meeting clothes, so he beats Bucky to the restaurant even though it’s only a few minutes from Bucky’s apartment and an entire subway ride away for Steve, but Steve’s kind of glad, because it means he gets to watch Bucky walk into the restaurant, glancing around and straining his neck until his eyes land on Steve. He smiles then, his face splitting and crinkling and Steve loves watching that grin spread across his face, it’s something he could get used to.

“Hey!” Bucky calls when he’s a few tables away.

Steve doesn’t bother with the salutations, instead skipping right for, “Please explain to me how it’s breakfast time.”

“Because I only woke up an hour ago, and you have to have breakfast before you can have lunch.”

“Okay, fair enough.”

“Why are you so dressed up? I almost didn’t recognize you without the sweater.”

“Believe it or not, I do own normal clothing.”

“Well, you look nice. Not that you didn’t last night, too, I mean. I liked the festive look, too, you pull it off really well.”

Bucky feels impossible to Steve, like he’s more than any one human should be allowed to be. He occupies a lot of space for someone who can’t be much taller than average, almost as though whatever radius his voice can fill is somehow also a part of him. Steve loves it, this unapologetic space consumption.

He just says, “You’re not too shabby yourself.”

“High praise,” Bucky laughs. Steve loves his laugh.

They order their food (pancakes again, for Bucky, but just standard buttermilk this time; a classic two-egg breakfast for Steve), and when they hand off their menus to the waitress, Bucky turns to Steve, curls his hands around his coffee mug, smiles, and says, “So.”

“So.”

“So, Steve Rogers, what do you do for a living?”

Steve laughs because how on earth did they get through an entire night and not even say what they did for a living? How did he manage to learn nothing about Bucky and still feel like he knows more about him than he does about Natasha? So Steve laughs. He laughs and says, simply, “I’m an illustrator.”

He braces for the _“Oh, that’s a job?”_ or the “Y _ou can get paid for that?”_ or the “S _o you doodle for a living?”_ but Bucky says, “Oh, cool! What kind of illustration?”

“All kinds. I do freelance, so children’s books, pamphlets, company logos sometimes. A lot of different things.”

“How did you get into that field?” And Bucky seems genuinely interested, so Steve tells him about going to art school, about worrying that he wouldn’t get a job and having people tell him every day that his major was useless; he tells Bucky about landing his first job, about getting to see his drawings in full color print. He doesn’t tell Bucky that he cried the first time he saw that book, and then again when he was walking through the store and saw _Steve Rogers_ written under the “illustrations by” tagline, but he loves that Bucky’s eyes never leave his while he tells these stories. By the time he’s done, their food is there.

“Sorry, I got a little carried away there.”

“No! It’s really interesting, tell me more,” Bucky says, and it looks like he means it.

“Later. What do _you_ do?” Steve’s heart leaps at how easily the word “later” comes out of his mouth, at the fact that Bucky doesn’t question it.

Bucky’s lips turn up at the edges, his eyes crinkling. “I’m a middle school teacher.”

“What subject?”

“Wow,” Bucky says, eyebrows raised. “You might be the first person who didn’t just say that my job sounds miserable.”

“Well, you seemed happy about it, so it didn’t seem so miserable to me.”

Bucky’s gaze drops from Steve’s for the first time, just for a second so he can stare at the table, his smile widening. “I teach science.”

“Should have guessed,” Steve says.

“Why?”

“You have that crazy science teacher vibe. I can see it. Are you the crazy science teacher?”

“I’m not the crazy science teacher,” Bucky says, rolling his eyes, but there’s mischief lacing his voice.

“You’re totally the crazy science teacher. What’s your favorite unit to teach?”

“That’s what you want to know? Not who my stupidest student is? Not the grossest thing a parent has ever said to me? Really? My favorite unit to teach?” Bucky looks incredulous.

“I want to know all of it.”

“Wow,” Bucky says, but it’s quiet, and Steve thinks maybe he wasn’t supposed to hear that part. “Uh, okay. Favorite unit. Definitely genetics. I love the genetics unit every year. I have them guess the odds that I’d be as incredibly beautiful as I am.”

“Really?”

“No, I’d probably get in trouble for that. I do show a lot of pictures of me and my sister, though, because we look a lot alike, but we’re not twins.”

“A sister! How old is she?”

“She’s in her last year of college right now,” Bucky says, and by the look on his face, it’s clear that he loves her, maybe more than anything else. Steve likes that.

So Bucky’s the crazy science teacher, and Steve’s a freelance illustrator, and they spend far too long in that restaurant because there’s so much they don’t know about each other, and they want to learn it all. They want to know about families (Bucky’s is big, Steve’s is small) and pets (neither have any, but Steve desperately wants a dog) and travel histories and favorite colors and food preferences and broken bones and everything there is to know. It’s supposed to be the boring stuff, but Steve listens to every single detail Bucky tells him, and he thinks maybe Bucky is doing the same.

-

They tuck a big tip alongside the bill when they leave; they’ve been monopolizing that table for hours now.

They part ways in front of that restaurant, Steve promising to call Bucky later.

-

He’s ten feet away when he gets out his phone and dials Bucky’s number.

Bucky’s laughing when he picks up. “Hello?”

“Pretend it’s been whatever arbitrary amount of time that makes it acceptable to call you instead of thirty seconds.”

“Done.”

“Okay. Do you want to have dinner with me tonight?”

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes, definitely yes.”

“Okay, so. My apartment, three hours from now?”

“Perfect. Gives me time to squeeze in some lunch.”

Steve finds his face stretching, his stomach flipping in excitement. “Perfect.”

-

At 5:45 that evening, Steve’s gone grocery shopping and he’s dressed and dinner’s on the stove and, somehow, he’s still got fifteen minutes before Bucky gets there, and he’s nervous. He’s nervous and he’s pacing and it smells like pine because he just bought his tree, and he decides to call Natasha because, left to his own devices, he’s just going to burrow deeper into the panic.

“Hello?”

“Hi, he’s going to be here in fifteen minutes.”

“If you’re talking about ugly sweater guy, I’m going to be so disappointed.”

“His name is Bucky.”

“Oh, Steve.”

“Do you think my blue shirt is okay?”

“Which blue shirt?”

“The blue one,” Steve says. “Nat, the _blue one_.”

“Ninety percent of your shirts are blue, lameass. But if it’s the v-neck, then yes. If it’s not, then no, go change into the v-neck.”

“It’s the v-neck.”

“Then you’re good to go, Rogers.”

“He’s coming over for dinner, Nat,” Steve says, and he keeps an eye on the front door, waiting for the knock. “I invited him for dinner, and he said yes, and he’s coming over for dinner. To my apartment. Tonight. _In twelve minutes_.”

“Two dates in two days?”

“Three, kind of.”

“How can you _kind of_ have a date?”

“Well, I just mean that we had breakfast together, but that was only three hours ago. So I’m not sure if that counts as two dates.”

“That’s one date with an intermission, Steve. Also, you’re pathetic.” But Natasaha’s voice sounds happy in his ear, and Steve thinks maybe she’s not as disapproving as she pretends.

“He’s a middle school teacher, Nat. He has a sister.”

“Wow, you’re a sap.”

“He teaches science.”

“This is pathetic, please stop. How many minutes until your boyfriend gets there now?”

“He’s not my boyfriend, and eight. He has a crooked smile.”

“Do you think he’ll wear a reindeer sweater, or will he break out the mistletoe?”

“Okay, bye, Nat.”

“Use protection.”

He hangs up the phone and checks the dinner for the umpteenth time. It hasn’t burnt and it smells edible. Steve can barely breathe, he’s so nervous. He’s dragging his fingers through his hair again (again, again) when the doorbell rings.

-

The doorbell rings.

-

Steve yanks the door open and there’s Bucky and he’s beautiful, he really is, and Steve just stares for a second before saying, “Sorry, come in!”

Bucky clears his throat and says, “Thanks,” and his voice is a little strangled, but he’s smiling and he’s bundled up in a coat and a scarf, his hand shoved deeply in his pocket. His face is bitten red by the cold. “It smells great in here.”

And Steve still feels like maybe his lungs have abandoned him, but he’s pulled himself together now and it’s just mostly pleasant. “It’s gonna taste terrible,” he jokes.

“Really?”

“Well, I hope not,” Steve says, suddenly nervous that the dinner will be a disaster.

“Oh, sorry. I’m sure it’ll be great. I only know how to make macaroni and cheese, so if I’d made it, it would taste terrible.”

“I doubt that’s true.”

Bucky laughs and throws his head back, tugging his scarf off. “It’s true, trust me.” He starts undoing the clasps on his jacket, and Steve doesn’t much care whether or not Bucky can cook. He’s beautiful and Steve likes the way his neck stretches when he’s laughing. It’s distracting, so he turns away and walks into the kitchen.

He calls, “Are you vegetarian?” over his shoulder.

Bucky laughs, shortly. “No.”

“Okay, good.” Steve leans over to put the garlic bread in the oven to brown it, and when he straightens back up, Bucky is watching him. To cover his blush, Steve gestures to the dining room table and says, “You can sit if you want.”

“No, how can I help?”

“If you’re as bad at cooking as you say you are, I think it’d help if you sat down.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Very funny.”

“I certainly thought so. Do you want a beer? Or some wine?”

“Are you trying to get me drunk, Steve?”

“Sorry, I also have water. Or milk, but it seems a little weird to drink milk with garlic bread and pasta.”

“Beer would be great.”

“Perfect, because I don’t have wine, and I’m actually pretty sure I’m out of milk.”

Bucky laughs, and Steve watches his neck again. He thinks about kissing it, so he distracts himself with getting the drinks.

-

It’s another thirty minutes before dinner, and by the time they’re eating, Bucky’s found Steve’s framed drawings. There aren’t many lying around, but he’s kept a few. The special ones.

Even after their plates are empty, they’re still talking about those damn drawings, and he’s telling Bucky now about his first major project right out of college, the one that produced the character Bucky’s holding now. Steve’s cringing internally at all the things he’d change now (the lines are a little too stilted, a little too thick, not to mention all the tiny details), but Bucky looks fascinated the whole time Steve’s rambling about character design and trying to pick just the right colors and sending Nat a million pictures of his ideas.

“Her input was pretty much limited to ‘Looks good, Steve.’”

Bucky chuckles at that. “Well, to be fair, it does look good, Steve.”

“That’s really old now.”

“Well, then I guess I’ll just have to see some more recent work sometime.”

“I guess you will.”

“How about tonight?”

And Steve likes that Bucky doesn’t leave right after they eat, he likes that he seems to want to stay. Steve wants him to stay. “Okay,” he says, and Bucky smiles. They clear the dishes from the table (Bucky insists on helping, no matter how much Steve tells him that it isn’t necessary), and as Steve sets them in the sink, he says, “So why weren’t you at school today?”

“Furlough day. Budget cuts. Y’know.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“S’okay. I got to sleep in and go on two dates with you. Pretty good tradeoff, if you ask me.”

“One date.”

“What?”

“One date. A date with an intermission. A date in two acts.”

And Bucky’s laughing again as he says, “Okay, weirdo, whatever you say,” so Steve looks away because he’s starting to worry that he won’t be able to hold off on the kissing anymore.

“I’ll go get some of my newer sketchbooks. Make yourself at home, I’ll be right back.”

“Sounds good.”

Steve takes an extra minute grabbing his sketchbook; he pauses at his desk, taking a deep breath or two, then sending a quick text to Natasha ( **Nat, help me, he’s perfect.** )before he’s making his way back to the living room, and he thinks he’s pulled himself together until he sees Bucky sitting there, beer in hand and looking around at Steve’s apartment. His neck is craning and he looks like he spent too long on his hair, and his feet are spread wide enough for him to lean forward on his elbow, and he just looks—well, he looks like Steve should be kissing him.

So Steve brings the sketchbook over. He’s not sure how far away from Bucky he’s supposed to sit. He goes for a respectable two feet, twisting his body so he can hand the sketchbook over to Bucky.

“Here, this is some of my most recent design work.”

Bucky grins, and instead of taking the book from Steve, he just sets his beer on a coaster, scoots closer, and says, “Show me.”

Steve can feel himself blushing, but. “Okay.”

He gets two pages in before Bucky’s lacing their fingers together, softly, slowly, his fingers sliding up Steve’s palm until they’re flush with Steve’s. He tangles them together. Steve’s hearing starts going dull, the way it sometimes does when he turns his hearing aid down too far; but it’s not his hearing aid, he knows it’s not, it was working two seconds ago. It’s not his hearing aid that’s the problem, it’s Bucky. It’s their fingers tangled together and resting on Steve’s thigh. He’s not entirely sure what he’s saying anymore, so he just stops.

In the middle of a sentence, Steve stops and turns to Bucky instead. He’s honestly not sure what he was talking about before. Something about this drawing. What drawing? He can’t remember, but he’s strangely unconcerned with that fact. Bucky’s smiling at him kind of funny, but when Steve reaches up and rests his hand on Bucky’s jaw, Bucky looks a lot less confused, and Steve only has a few seconds to appreciate it before he’s leaning in.

The kiss is cut short because neither of them can stop smiling long enough to kiss properly. They knock teeth for a few seconds before Bucky backs away, laughing.

“Sorry,” Steve says.

“For what?”

“I don’t know. I interrupted the story.”

“You interrupted your own story?”

“Yeah.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I wasn’t really listening anyway. You’re too damn distracting for your own good.”

Instead of focusing on that, Steve says, “Well, then, I’m sorry I didn’t kiss you very well.”

“I thought it was pretty great.”

“Yeah,” Steve says. It’s quiet. “Me too.”

“That’s not to say we couldn’t try again, though.”

“No?”

“No, I certainly wouldn’t knock that option off the table.” And this time, it’s Bucky who leans in. They’re still smiling, but Bucky’s composed himself enough to really commit.

-

Bucky Barnes kisses like he’s just won the goddamn lottery. Nose bumps, smiles and teeth clacking, the sound of lips pulling apart and rejoining again (again, again), and Steve is drowning in it. It’s not too long (not nearly long enough) before they pull apart, and Bucky leans his forehead against Steve’s, going cross-eyed with the effort to keep looking at Steve.

“Okay, tell me the rest of the story,” Bucky says. Steve has to remind himself that they’d been talking before.

-

It feels a bit like nothing happened before that kiss. Not tonight, not ever, like maybe Steve started breathing with that kiss.

-

“What story was I telling?” Steve asks, a little bashful. “Sorry, I forget.”

“I don’t honestly know,” Bucky says. “Start a new one.”

Steve’s still not entirely sure what story it is he tells that night, and it takes him a long time to get through it. Every couple of sentences, Bucky interrupts him with a kiss.

(“Sorry, sorry, keep going. I’m listening, I promise.”

“No, it’s okay, I like this better.”

And it’s a few more minutes before they can stop themselves.)

-

One over-long tale later, it is quiet and Steve is drowsy, dizzied by Bucky. They lay there on the couch, Steve rubbing lightly, absentmindedly at Bucky’s hand with his thumb. He traces the veins, watches his thumb move and wonders how it is possibly his own.

Steve breaks the silence—“It’s a school night, isn’t it?”—and he hates himself for asking, but he’d feel bad if he didn’t.

“Yeah.”

“So do you need to go?”

“Technically, yes. Theoretically, I could just keep sitting here with you.”

Steve squeezes his hand one last time, then pulls him to standing. Bucky sighs and makes toward the coat rack. He stops short in front of the tree. “It’s naked,” he observes.

“Yeah, haven’t decorated it yet. I was going to do it tomorrow.”

“Did you want some help with that?”

“You want to help me decorate my Christmas tree?”

“One-armed tree decorating is an art form, Steve Rogers. And that isn’t a euphemism.”

Steve can feel his face heating, but Bucky’s turning red, too. They both look away for a second (at the ceiling, the floor, the wall, anything but each other’s faces, because Steve is worried that his interest is written a little too plainly on his features) before returning to the conversation.

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

“I’ll be here. Seven?”

“I’ll get take-out.”

Bucky grins, shimmying into his coat and working his scarf back on. “Perfect.” He fumbles with the buttons for a moment, and hesitates before he steps forward. He’s shyer than he was on the couch (Steve thinks he understands why; the living room had felt like a bubble, like a perfect second date, and now they’re facing each other in his foyer and this is when they see if it’s still perfect and—)

And Bucky’s kissing him, and it is. He is. Still perfect.

-

Steve’s phone goes off about twenty minutes after Bucky leaves.

_hey, i’m home safely._

**Great! Thank you for telling me. Sleep well!**

_i will. still on for tree decorating tomorrow?_

They made that plan twenty minutes ago, but Steve thinks maybe Bucky’s just making excuses to send another text.

**Yeah, definitely. Now go to bed.**

_okay, mom. i had a really nice time tonight :)_

**Me too!!**

_do you want to help me decorate my tree on wednesday? :)_

**I’d love to! Now go to bed.**

_still not a euphemism, to be clear._

**Oh, my god. Go to bed.**

_you’re not the boss of me. i’d like to text my cute date._

**Tell them I say hi.**

_haha, very funny._

**I’m hilarious. Go to bed.**

_you just want me to go to sleep so YOU can go to sleep, huh?_

**Maybe. Go to bed.**

_fine, fine. goodnight :)_

**Goodnight!!**

_-_

Before Steve lets himself drift off, he sends one last text to Natasha ( **Never mind. No help needed. He is definitely perfect.** ) and lays down. Hesmiles into his pillow as he falls asleep that night.


	3. tuesday, december 16: date three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “He wakes up early.” Bucky says it like it’s a good thing, like he himself does not sleep in past noon on a regular basis. “He left me his number, and I called him—”  
> “No three-day wait?”  
> “Not for Steve.”  
> Or: Bucky teaches Steve the fine art of one-armed tree decorating.

“Why are you so happy?” Peggy’s got a suspicious look on her face, eyeing Bucky down as he drinks his third cup of coffee that day. She has the same plan period as he does, and they usually spend it commiserating (Bucky complains while Peggy murmurs her assent), but today Bucky is beaming and Peggy has noticed. Peggy always notices.

“Do you want the long answer or the short answer?”

“You’re going to give me the long answer either way, aren’t you?”

“Probably.” Bucky is just about dancing out of his skin with excitement. Peggy rolls her eyes.

“Okay, go.”

“Peggy, we were in his kitchen and I wanted to sit on the counter. I wanted to sit on the counter and grab his sleeve and pull him over and kiss him and let the dinner burn, and I’m seeing him again tonight.”

Peggy narrows her eyes. “I’m confused. That was the long version?”

Bucky takes a deep breath. “Sorry. Backing up. I met this guy.”

“Ah.”

“His name is Steve, and I met him on Sunday, and we’ve been on three dates. Well. Two-point-five.”

“Two-point-five?” Peggy looks amused. “Sounds…odd.”

“Yeah, well, we kind of went on two yesterday, but he says it only counts as one.”

-

“My friend Peggy wants to know why yesterday only counts as one date,” Bucky says as soon as Steve opens the door.

“Why, hello to you, too.”

“Hi!” Bucky says as he ducks under Steve’s arm and into the apartment. “Why is yesterday only one date?”

“Because there were only a couple of hours between the two halves.”

“Three hours. Three. That’s a _few_ , not a _couple_.”

“Semantics,” Steve says, and he kisses Bucky lightly. It still gives Bucky goosebumps.

“That’s what I was going to say to you.”

“Beat you to it,” Steve says, and he takes Bucky’s hand, just to lead him into the kitchen.

-

“We met at Tony’s Christmas party,” Bucky says, settling on the counter next to the sink, his legs swinging in front of him. Peggy leans against the cabinet as she sips from her mug, a ring of red lipstick left behind.

“Oh, god, you went to that?” She twists her face up in disgust.

“I did go to that, and I happened to wear my sweater—”

“Not the one with the lights.”

“The one with the lights.”

-

“So did you want to eat or decorate first?” Steve asks.

“Maybe half and half? We could string the lights first, then eat, then do ornaments? Unless you’re one of those weird garland-only people, and then I might have to break up with you.”

Steve smiles at the ground when Bucky says that, and Bucky’s insides feel light again. _Break up._ That would require being together first. Which they aren’t, technically speaking, but they also aren’t explicitly _not_ together.

“Sounds good to me,” Steve says. So Steve holds the strand of lights and unspools it as Bucky drapes it artfully (randomly) on the branches, humming along to the Christmas music that Steve’s got playing. They knock into each other a few times, and Bucky can’t stop thinking—

Together (together, together).

-

“And then we went out to dinner afterwards.”

“Where?”

“The diner down the road from my apartment.”

Peggy nods her head, and she pretends that she’s working on lesson plans, but Bucky knows she’s paying attention. “Come on, Pegs, I’m more interesting than telling kids to run a few laps.” She glares at him. “Okay, I know you do more than that. Sorry.”

“You are definitely not more interesting than lesson plans,” she says with a quirk of her eyebrow, a smirk on her lips.

“Sure, Peggy,” he says, because he can see the way she’s listening.

“So, you went to dinner.”

“Yeah, and I don’t even remember what we talked about, really, but he’s stunning and his voice is quiet but it’s deep and it’s beautiful and you can feel it when he talks. Our legs were tangled under the table.”

-

Steve tangles their legs again (again, again) while they eat Chinese food.

Bucky wants to tell Peggy. He wants to send her a picture of the way Steve’s right leg is hooked under his left, of the way Bucky’s other foot slides around Steve’s calf. He wants to document this feeling forever, and Peggy’s got the best memory of anyone he knows.

-

“He slept at my apartment,” Bucky says, and that gets Peggy to look up.

“Oh?”

“Fully clothed.”

“Ah.”

“He wakes up early.” Bucky says it like it’s a good thing, like he himself does not sleep in past noon on a regular basis. “He left me his number, and I called him—”

“No three-day wait?”

“Not for Steve.”

-

“Wait, wait, wait, we need a plan of attack,” Bucky says as Steve reaches to put the first ornament on the tree. Steve gives him an incredulous look, and Bucky says, “What?”

“It’s a Christmas tree, Buck.” _Buck._ “You don’t need a plan for a Christmas tree.”

“Are you sure about that? I told you I’d show you the art form of one-arm Christmas tree decorating, and that usually involves a solid plan. Diagrams sometimes. Timetables. Perfect ratios.”

“ _Or,_ ” Steve says, and he hooks an arm around Bucky’s waist. “We could just wing it.”

Bucky looks up at him, and Steve’s eyes are glimmering in the low light of the tree and yeah. Yeah. They can wing it. He lets Steve pull him in close, sets his hand on the side of Steve’s face, and kisses him.

It’s a lot less chaste than the one at the door, and Bucky makes him set the ornament down so they can back up and onto the couch. They put off the decorating for a minute, to allow time for Steve to keep his arm under Bucky, lifting him just enough that they can keep kissing. Bucky smiles into the kiss, pulls Steve closer to him. He’s about to move onto Steve’s neck when Steve abruptly stops, face red and his breathing a little heavier than it was before.

“Okay, I think I have a plan,” Steve says, and Bucky has to catch up because a few seconds ago, his plan had been to keep kissing Steve. But now Steve’s standing up again and already hanging up the ornament he’d been holding earlier. Bucky watches him for a second before heaving himself into a sitting position.

“All right, what’s this plan?”

“Get this—we can put the ornaments,” he pauses, and Bucky leans forward, “in _random places_ and keep doing that until the tree _looks good_.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “All right, punk, let’s do this.”

-

“And he didn’t make fun of me for being a teacher, Peggy. He didn’t even make the _face_.”

Peggy knows the face. “Wow. Impressive.”

“I know! So, after breakfast, he invited me to his apartment for dinner. That’s how we got the two-point-five dates. I still don’t fully understand how that works.”

“Ask him tonight.”

“Will do. But yeah, he asked me to dinner, and when I got there—god, Peggy, the whole place smelled amazing, and he was wearing this blue shirt, and he wouldn’t let me help with the cooking—”

“A good choice on his part.”

“You suck. But he’s an _illustrator_ , Peggy. He showed me all these drawings he’s done, for books and logos and magazines, and he’s just. He’s amazing, he’s insanely talented. Even his old stuff is amazing.”

-

“Oh, my gosh, what is this?” Bucky asks, holding up a popsicle-stick frame with a yellowed paper glued in the center. There are two scrawled stick figures there, holding hands, drawn in crayon, and a scribble at the bottom that vaguely resembles Steve’s name. Bucky flips the ornament over and there, in neater, mommish handwriting, is written, _Steve, age 5._

“Oh god,” Steve groans. “Don’t look at that.”

“I think I’m witnessing the early days of artist Steve.”

“Please put that back.”

“This is going on the tree.”

“No, I’m pretty sure it’s not.”

“You asked for my help with this tree—”

“I didn’t, actually, you just volunteered.”

“—and I am going to follow through. I will make this tree beautiful, and this ornament is going to do it. This ornament is the final piece, it will be the focal point of my entire design—”

“We decided on no design.”

“—and it will be a masterpiece. This tree could be featured in catalogues.”

Bucky hangs the ornament, and Steve doesn’t really try to stop him. Just smiles that smile that Bucky wants to kiss.

So he does.

-

“And he _kissed me,_ Peggy. He kissed me in his living room, and he’s just. He’s amazing, Peggy.”

“That’s fantastic, James,” Peggy says, and she’d never admit it, but her voice is sincere.

“Yeah, _James_ , this Steve sounds like a helluva guy.” Bucky looks over, and it’s Kate Bishop, student teacher extraordinaire, grabbing her lunch from the fridge. “Is he hot?”

“Don’t call me James,” Bucky says, but there’s no venom in his voice. “But yeah, Steve’s no slouch.”

“Rockin’,” she says, approvingly. “Lay one on him for me tonight.”

“That’s the plan,” Bucky says.

-

They lose track of time again, and Bucky knows he’ll be kicking himself in the morning when he has to get to school early and deal with a full day of pre-Christmas thirteen-year-olds, but Steve is worth it. Steve settling against Bucky’s chest when they sit in the corner of the couch is worth it. Steve starting to nod off about an hour after they’ve finished decorating, when it’s gone quiet and they’re just looking at their handiwork, is worth it.

Bucky lets himself enjoy it for a few minutes before he whispers Steve’s name, quiet enough that he can hope it won’t wake Steve up.

“Yeah?” Steve says, groggy.

“I gotta go,” and he can hear the regret in his own voice.

“Okay,” Steve says.

“Do I, though?”

Steve laughs, finally moving and stretching; the smallest strip of skin shows when he raises his arms above his head, and Bucky thinks, again, _Do I, though?_

“Yes, I think you do. You can’t be late for school,” Steve says.

“I can call in a sub,” Bucky says, because that shirt riding up has really captured his attention.

“Oh, my god, no you can’t. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Fine, fine, I’ll go,” Bucky says, but he drags his feet on the way to the door, mostly to get a laugh out of Steve. It works. He saves that sound in his head, so he can play it on repeat until he falls asleep.

When they kiss tonight, they pull themselves a lot closer than they had just twenty-four hours ago. Bucky can still taste Steve on his lips the whole walk home.

-

i _’m home safe._

**Thank you! Goodnight, Bucky!!**

_goodnight, steve. i had a good time tonight. :)_

**I did, too!!**

_lucky us. :)_

**Lucky us. Now go to bed.**

_party pooper._

**Goodnight!**

_goodnight, steve. see you tomorrow :)_

**See you tomorrow!!**


	4. wednesday, december 17, 2014

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I know it’s a little dorky to have your younger sister present on your fifth date.”  
> “Fourth.”  
> “Oh, that’s right. And it’s perfectly acceptable to have your sister there for your fourth date, so I guess we’re safe.”  
> Or: Steve meets Becca Barnes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much to anyone who's left a comment on this. please, please know how much it means to me. you're all amazing people, thank you!!

He’s supposed to be at Bucky’s at seven. It’s three minutes till, and he’s sitting outside the building, just now realizing that maybe he should have tried to be a little less prompt. He gets out his phone.

**Is it okay that I’m a little early?**

_Yeah!! :)_

_Wait, scratch that, I need a few minutes._

_Okay, never mind, I just needed one minute. We’re good to go now._

But when Steve knocks on the door, it isn’t Bucky who answers; he’s confused for an instant, thinking perhaps he’s gotten the wrong apartment, when he hears Bucky’s voice, frantic, calling from the next room.

“Becca, I’ll get it, it’s probably Steve. Becca, don’t—” He comes into view, buttoning the last few buttons on his shirt, his sentence cutting short when he sees Steve, who raises his eyebrows questioningly.

“You were taking too long primping for him, so I beat you to the door. Choose a shirt faster next time,” the girl in the doorway says, head turned over her shoulder. She turns her attention back to Steve. “You must be Steve!” she adds, her face lighting up the same way Bucky’s does, and— _oh_. “I’m Becca. Bucky’s sister.” And that makes sense. Now that Steve’s seen it, he can’t stop seeing it. They look remarkably alike, and suddenly Bucky’s comment about showing his students a picture of him and Becca during the genetics unit makes a lot more sense. They’ve got the same square jaw, the same dark brown hair, and her face transforms the same way Bucky’s does when she smiles—from sad to shining in less than a second.

“Yeah, I put that together,” Steve laughs. “I’m Steve.” He shakes her proffered hand.

She looks him up and down, briefly. “I approve, Bucky.” And with that, she’s bouncing back towards the kitchen. “I hope you’re okay with pizza, Steve. Our ma’s cooking skills didn’t rub off on either of us,” she calls back.

Once she’s out of sight, Bucky rubs the back of his neck and steps a little closer to Steve. “Yeah, sorry about that. She sort of, uh, invited herself. Trust me, I wasn’t planning on her being here, I know it’s a little dorky to have your younger sister present on your fifth date.”

“Fourth.”

“Oh, that’s right. And it’s perfectly acceptable to have your sister there for your _fourth_ date, so I guess we’re safe.”

Steve gives Bucky a light kiss. “I certainly think so.”

He follows Bucky into the kitchen, where Becca is getting glasses down from the cupboard. “Do you want something to drink, Steve? Bucky has some of that classy sparkling cider if you’re interested.”

“I wouldn’t turn my nose up at that. Bucky says you’re almost done with school?”

“Oh, god, please don’t exchange niceties with my sister. She’s not supposed to be here,” Bucky says, but his tone is light.

Becca ignores her brother’s interjection. “Yeah, I graduate in June. Please don’t ask what I’m going to do after that because I have no idea, and I’m trying not to panic about it right now.”

Steve decides he likes Becca.

“You don’t have to panic, Becca, I’ve been telling you that all day,” Bucky says, handing Steve his drink.

“You’ve been telling me that for four years now, and here I am, still panicking. No. I’m not panicking because we’re not talking about this.” She turns to Steve. “Let’s talk about you!”

“I’m afraid that’s not a very interesting topic of conversation,” Steve says. Mostly, he doesn’t want her to ask him about Bucky, because he’s rather sure he’ll say something far too incriminating, like _your brother is possibly the most enthralling person I’ve ever met_. Or something.

He’s not so sure how well that’d go over, so he sticks with saying, “I’m pretty boring.”

“Not the way Bucky tells it.” Becca raises her eyebrows.

“Becca, please,” Bucky says.

“He called me this morning—”

“Please stop.”

“—begging me to take the train into town a day early—”

“Oh my god, any other story. Please pick _any other story,_ ” Bucky pleads, and Steve would swear that Bucky’s blushing.

“—just so he could get a _tree_ —”

“I’m leaving.”

“—because he told this _cute guy—_ ”

“Yeah, bye.” And Bucky walks out of the room. He turns Christmas music on in the living room, turning it up loud, but not loud enough for Steve to miss the rest of Becca’s sentence.

“—that he could come over and decorate his tree with him. Never mind the fact that he _never_ gets a tree and usually just spends the second half of December at our ma’s house with me while I’m on break.” Becca takes a quick glance into the living room before adding, “You must be something pretty special, Steve Rogers.”

“You weren’t supposed to _stay_ after getting the tree, Becca!” Bucky calls from the living room.

Becca laughs and starts walking in the direction of Bucky’s voice, calling “Who else was going to break it to Steve that you’re a complete dork?”

Steve’s not quite sure what he’s supposed to do, so he stands in Bucky’s kitchen, flattered and a little overwhelmed. He takes a second to catch his breath before following after Becca and Bucky.

-

The pizza is devoured with shocking speed; Bucky insists they eat before touching any of the ornaments—which have apparently all been either pilfered from Ma Barnes or purchased at Target—because he doesn’t want greasy fingerprints all over his Christmas tree.

“Oh come on,” Becca says, “You weren’t even going to _have_ a Christmas tree until today.”

“I actually decided on Monday that I was going to get one, thank you very much.”

-

He likes watching Bucky and Becca together. They’ve clearly been close for a long time. They have the ease of best friends. They move around each other easily, they have a system for stringing the lights, they jostle each other around. Becca clearly knows how best to work around Bucky’s arm; she hands him things at the right times, but doesn’t offer too much help.

Steve stays pretty quiet for most of the night; he likes the sound of Bucky laughing with his sister. He likes how easy it is. He likes that he talks _to_ her the same way he talked _about_ her at breakfast two days ago—with a teasing lilt to his voice that’s almost overpowered by the admiration in his eyes.

-

The decorating itself takes far longer than Steve’s tree did, although there are far fewer ornaments. Bucky is insistent that each one needs to be hung in its perfect spot, and he ends up moving nearly every ornament Becca hangs. He leaves Steve’s in place.

“Oh my god, this is just like when we were little and Ma would refold all the towels when I did the laundry.”

“Yeah, that’s because you suck at folding towels. And decorating trees, apparently.”

“You don’t move _Steve’s!_ ”

“Steve is better at this than you are.”

“Oh, please. Steve just has a nicer ass than I do.”

“That much is true.”

Becca sticks her tongue out at Bucky, blowing a raspberry.

“Oh, very mature. I’m so glad my twenty-two year-old sister is still spitting at me.”

“Yeah, well, I’m so glad my twenty-seven year old brother is still lying to impress his boyfriend.”

Bucky gives a breathy laugh and says, “That ornament looks terrible there, Becca. God, who raised you?” But his voice shakes a little, and Steve wonders if it was the boyfriend comment.

It certainly made _his_ heartbeat pick up a little bit, that’s for sure.

“If you don’t start being nicer to me, I’m gonna tell Ma that you got a boyfriend and didn’t tell her.”

Steve watches it happen. Bucky’s hand freezes on its way to the tree, the air stands still for a second before Bucky says, “Please don’t do that.”

“Oh, God. Yeah, sorry, Bucky. I forgot. I promise I won’t tell Ma anything.”

“Okay.”

And it’s still silent after that, so, after a moment, Steve picks up an ornament. “Where’s the worst possible place I can put this?”

Bucky says, a little quieter than he had been before, but not stilted like he had been a few seconds ago, “Somewhere that’s not on the tree?”

So Steve balances the hook on top of Bucky’s ear. Bucky smiles a little easier after that.

-

Later, when Becca’s asleep in the guest room, they lay and look at the tree; it does, in all fairness, look far prettier than Steve’s. Neater, more coordinated, less homemade.

“I like yours better,” Bucky says.

Steve laughs. “Me too.”

Bucky pushes himself up onto his elbow, looking mock-offended. “You’re supposed to say you like _mine_ better, asshole.”

“Yeah, but that wouldn’t be the truth.”

“Don’t you know how flirting works?”

“Well, it felt wrong to lie.”

“You’re still an asshole.”

“I can live with that.”

And when Bucky lowers himself back to the ground, Steve scoots closer. He lays his head on Bucky’s chest, listens to his heart beat. It picks up speed as Steve smiles into the fabric of Bucky’s shirt and turns his face so that he can feel the thrumming of Bucky’s heartbeat on his lips.

“What did Becca tell you?” Bucky asks.

“Hmm?”

“When I left the room to get her coat. What did she tell you?”

-

Becca had turned to Steve as soon as Bucky was out of the room, and her voice had been quieter than it had been all night. Becca’s a loud talker, but she had managed to speak exceedingly low for this.

“Bucky’s real nice, Steve.”

“I know.”

“Please don’t turn out to be a dick,” she’d said, and her eyes had looked pleading, like maybe there was a track record that was prompting her to say this. It’d hurt Steve, to think that Bucky’d had anyone do something to him that would warrant this talk from his sister.

“I’m not a dick,” Steve had promised. “At least I don’t think I am.”

“I know.” She’d smiled, then. “Let’s keep it that way, yeah? My brother really likes you.”

-

“That you like me,” Steve says.

“What a tattletale.” Bucky is silent for a moment before asking, “Did she say anything else?”

“Like what?”

“About earlier. The…the thing about my ma?”

“No.” Bucky looks nervous, too, so Steve adds, “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want, Bucky. I understand, it’s okay.”

“No, it’s fine, I just, uh—thought you should know, my mom doesn’t know. About…things. Not just,” Bucky waves his hand in the air a bit, “ _us_ things, but… _thing_ things.”

“That’s okay, Bucky.”

“I’ll tell her soon, I promise.”

“Take your time.”

“I want to tell her about you. So I’ll tell her soon.”

Steve smiles and buries his face into Bucky’s chest a little more. He can feel himself blushing; he tries to hide it as best he can, but he knows Bucky must be able to tell. “You want to tell your ma about me,” Steve mutters. “Wow.”

“I want to tell my ma about you. Wow,” Bucky agrees. He pulls Steve a little closer. “Becca and I really stepped up our game this year. The tree at our parents’ house never looks this nice. I hope you know it was all for your benefit.”

And Steve can hear Bucky talking peripherally, but he can also feel himself starting to drift off, his eyelids heavy; the room smells like cinnamon and pine and Bucky, and Steve is falling asleep. “Mmm. I like you, too,” he says, and falls asleep on the living room floor of Bucky’s apartment.


	5. thursday, december 18, 2014

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Okay, so,” Bucky starts, and then he’s speaking fast. “On a scale of one to Grandma Barnes getting drunk and taking her bra off at your graduation party, how bad do you think it would be if I brought Steve to Christmas dinner?”  
> Or: Do you want to meet my parents?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a reminder that if you've been commenting on this or have commented on it or will comment on it, i've memorized your username and i think you're actually a phenomenal human and i probably cried when i read your comment

They’re still on the floor when Bucky wakes up, covered in the blanket he’d grabbed off the back of the couch last night. Steve is still sleeping, so Bucky takes a moment to appreciate the view. His back is killing him, he has to go to the bathroom, and he’s going to be late for school if he doesn’t get moving. But Steve Rogers is sleeping on his living room floor, and it’s not something he wants to forget. Eventually, though, his arm is falling asleep, and he hasn’t been able to feel his ass since waking up, so he makes himself get moving. He takes a quick shower—he has it down to a fine science after years of getting up later than he should have—and throws on the outfit he’d set out yesterday.

Before he leaves, Bucky pours himself a cup of coffee and writes Steve a note on the same paper Steve left his phone number on. Bucky makes the note as succinct as possible—”You looked too peaceful to wake up. Do you want to do something tonight?”

-

( _I liked the way you looked curled up on my floor. Please want to go on a date tonight, because I think I’ll miss you if we don’t._ )

-

He clips it to the neck of Steve’s shirt, just like Steve did to him that first night.

-

The school day drags on, far longer than any day ever should. It’s almost winter break, and his students are getting restless. The Christmas cookies are starting to pour in, and Bucky isn’t one to complain about free baked goods, but the sugar isn’t really helping the productivity levels in his classes. He doesn’t want to be irritated with his students; he loves them, he does, but he also hates them today. They are loud and they aren’t focusing, and Bucky is starting to lose his last modicum of patience when—

**Good morning! You could have woken me up, you know.**

Bucky is in the middle of a lesson, so he can’t text back right away, but he does glance down to read the text. He can’t stop his face from lighting up.

“Mr. Barnes, what’re you looking at?” a student asks him.

“Nothing,” he assures her.

“He’s reading something on his phone. No passing notes in class, Mr. Barnes,” another student teases.

Bucky rolls his eyes. “I’m not passing notes. Also, I’m the teacher. I’m allowed to pass notes.”

“I don’t think that’s how it works, Mr. Barnes.”

“I’m the teacher. I make the rules, and that’s how it works because I say so.”

“Why are you smiling like that? Is it from your _girlfriend_ , Mr. Barnes?”

Bucky ignores the question, barreling back to his lesson plan. “All right, let’s talk about erosion!”

-

_good morning! :)_

**Yes to tonight, by the way.**

_really?? great! :) i have grand plans._

**I’ll prepare myself.**

_okay, not that grand._

**Will your sister be there?**

_oh my god, stop, i’m telling you, i didn’t invite her._

**I know, I’m just teasing.**

_what time?_

**Seven is good for me!**

_perfect, i’ll be there. dress warmly. :)_

**Ooh, intriguing.**

Bucky attaches a picture to the next text.

_look at these fresh scorch marks on my classroom wall. we weren’t even using the bunsen burners for this lab._

_the youth these days are so talented._

**I meant your subject change.**

_i, too, am very talented. :)_

_-_

The rest of his day passes a lot more quickly after that. His plan period is late in the day, and he wastes it all talking to Peggy under the guise of grading papers.

“How many cups of coffee is that today?” Peggy teases.

Bucky scoffs. “Only three, thank you very much.”

“You should probably stop talking to me so you can grade those papers and get to bed early tonight.”

“I have a date tonight.”

“You have a date every night now.”

“I know. It’s amazing.”

She looks down at the paper he’s grading. “I’m happy for you, James, I really am. But maybe you’re grading a bit easy there? His only source was Wikipedia. Should he really be getting an A?”

“It’s Christmas, Peggy,” Bucky says. “Have a little mercy.”

“Two weeks ago, you were telling me that the sole good thing about Christmas was your mother’s food.”

“Though my ma’s food is, in fact, delicious, I admit that I stand corrected. Steve is pretty great, too.”

“Steve is not exclusive to Christmas, you know.”

_No_ , Bucky thinks. _I certainly hope not._

-

He calls Becca as he’s packing up his things, tucking his phone between his ear and his left shoulder, leaving his arm free to shove the still-ungraded papers into a too-small pocket of his leather bag. She picks up quickly.

“I’m not buying another tree with you, Buck,” she says lightly.

“No, but I was wondering if you’d get coffee with me? I have something I want to talk to you about.”

“I’ve got a paper due online tonight, Bucky, and I really need to edit it.”

“I’ll read your paper if you get coffee with me.”

“You were a chemistry major, Bucky.”

“Hey, I graduated college. I can write a paper.”

She sighs, but Bucky can tell he’s got her interested. “Fine, okay. But you have to give me real feedback. None of that ‘Looks good!’ crap.”

Bucky laughs. He thinks about what Steve would say. (“All she’d say is, _It looks good, Steve_.” “Well, to be fair, it does look good, Steve.”)

“Yeah, okay, I can be more helpful than that,” Bucky promises.

“Perfect! Meet you at the shop by your school in fifteen minutes?” Becca asks. Bucky can hear her gathering her keys already.

“Sounds good. I’ll be the one missing an arm.”

“Very funny, Buck.”

“I’m a riot, I tell ya.”

-

Bucky only beats Becca to the coffee shop by a few minutes. He’s just grabbing their drinks when she walks in the door. They snag a table by the window, and she plops a thick stack of papers down in front of him.

Bucky stares at it. “What is this? Oh, god, please don’t tell me—”

“It’s my paper.”

“See, I told you not to tell me. This is what I have to read?”

“All twenty-five pages of it!”

“Lord take me now.”

“You volunteered.”

“That I did,” Bucky admits.

“What did you want to talk about? It must be pretty damn important if you’re willing to read my lit paper.”

Instead of answering, Bucky elects to take a sip of his coffee, which he knows is still going to be too hot. It scalds his tongue and his throat on the way down; he uses it at an excuse not to address the matter at hand. It had sounded like such a good idea, a mere two hours ago, to talk to Becca about this. Now it seemed terrible, like he was presenting himself for sacrifice.

“Damn, that’s hot,” he murmurs into his cup.

“I bet that’s what you say about Steve.”

“Shut up.”

“I’ll shut up if you stop stalling.”

“I’m not stalling.”

“I know you, and I know you’re stalling.” She tips her head to the side. “I know this is about last night. So you don’t have to worry about bringing the subject up.”

“For once, I’m glad that I can’t keep secrets from you.”

Becca’s mouth tilts up on the side. Steve’d told him last night that she has the same smile as Bucky. He finds himself thinking about that instead of his nerves, for one blissful second. Steve is a much better topic of thought than this.

Steve. Right. That’s why he’s here.

_Okay, you can do this, Barnes._

“Okay, so,” Bucky starts, and then he’s speaking fast. “On a scale of one to Grandma Barnes getting drunk and taking her bra off at your graduation party, how bad do you think it would be if I brought Steve to Christmas dinner?”

Becca’s eyes widen a little bit. “Really?”

Bucky’s heart seizes up a bit at that. “Oh, god, is it weird to ask him? Maybe it’s weird. I was mostly just worried about Ma and Pa’s reactions, I didn’t think about what Steve’s would be. It’s weird isn’t it? Never mind, forget I said anything, I won’t bring him. You’re right. It’s weird, it’s too soon, I can’t do that.”

Becca reaches out, lays her hand over Bucky’s. “Hey. I never said it was weird. I just asked if you’re serious.”

“I don’t know if we are.”

“No, I know that, but are _you_?”

Bucky doesn’t think. He doesn’t think before he says, “I’m serious about him, Becca. I really...really like him.”

Becca tightens her fingers around Bucky’s at that. “Then I say on a scale of one to Grandma Barnes getting drunk and taking her bra off at my graduation party, this wouldn’t even register. This is a zero, Bucky. This is a negative five. Ma would _love_ Steve. Steve is _polite._ Steve can _cook_ , Steve likes that fucking sparkling cider you like. He’s perfect, Ma will love him. And Pa loves everyone. If you like Steve, you should bring him.”

“I like him, Becca.”

“Then you should bring him.”

“Okay. Okay.”

“Okay!” Becca says, her face beaming.

“I’m asking Steve Rogers to the Barnes family Christmas.”

“Yes. You are. Now read my paper.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m gettin’ to it,” Bucky says. But he’s thinking, _God help me, I’m asking Steve Rogers to the Barnes family Christmas._

-

When Bucky gets back to his apartment to change for his date, there’s a note on his counter.

_I like your smile._

Steve’s signed it with a smiley face and his name, as though Bucky could possibly think it was from anyone else. He must have left it that morning before he’d left.

Suddenly, it doesn’t sound like such a bad idea to tell his parents.

-

He knocks on Steve’s door at seven o’clock sharp, uncharacteristically punctual.

Steve opens it right away; he’s bundled in his coat already, the same one he’d worn the night they met. Before he says anything, Bucky takes the extra scarf he’s been carrying in his hand the whole way over and tosses it around Steve’s neck. He uses it to pull Steve in for a peck on the lips before saying, “Got your keys? Wallet?”

“Got my keys and wallet,” Steve answers, looking confused beyond belief.

“Perfect.” Bucky pulls Steve into the hallway and closes the door behind him before grabbing Steve’s hand and leading him towards the stairs.

“Where are we going?” Steve asks.

“To see the lights,” Bucky answers, squeezing Steve’s fingers in his own. Steve doesn’t have gloves on, but Bucky figures they can just tuck their linked hands into their pockets if they have to.

-

They stop to get a hot chocolate on the way.

“It’s tradition,” Bucky insists. But they just get the one because Bucky can’t carry his own and hold Steve’s hand at the same time. And he certainly won’t be letting go of Steve tonight.

Maybe Bucky’s imagining it, but it seems like maybe Steve is okay with it. Like maybe he likes that Bucky grabs his hand a little too tight.

-

When they get to their destination, the lights line the street on either side, overly elaborate and more than a bit ostentatious, but Bucky grins and turns to Steve.

“Well?” he asks expectantly.

“Looks like the perfect place for date number five,” Steve says.

“My thoughts exactly.”

So they walk down the street, looking at every house along the way. Bucky tips his head onto Steve’s shoulder, hopes that isn’t too much. But Steve just dislodges their fingers from where they’re sandwiched between their bodies and slings his arm around Bucky’s shoulder.

Bucky reaches back up and grabs Steve’s hand where it dangles over Bucky’s left shoulder. He can feel Steve pressing a smile into his hair.

He tries not to focus on the nerves that are making his stomach flop over and over. He tries not to think too hard about what he’s going to ask Steve tonight, about how badly it could go. About how terrible it would be to scare Steve away. He doesn’t think about that. He just thinks about Steve smiling into his hair, walking down the street with his arm around Bucky and a single cup of hot chocolate to share.

It gets cold pretty quickly, and Bucky listens closely to the way their feet move in synch, sinking into the snow. The crunch is satisfying.

He’s just about to get the courage up to say something when Steve yawns, wide and exaggerated, and Bucky realizes that they should probably be heading back. They start walking the same way they came. Bucky loses his resolve a little more with every step; he doesn’t want to ruin this thing they have going on. This quiet, simple thing that’s happening between them. He likes leaning his head on Steve’s shoulder. He doesn’t want to stop that. He doesn’t want this to break. But he also doesn’t want to hide it from his parents. Steve is not someone to be hidden.

So, when they get to the entrance and Steve announces that he’s going to run to the bathroom, Bucky nods. “Okay, sounds good,” he says.

The second Steve is out of sight, Bucky’s digging for his phone in his pocket and dialing Becca’s number. She doesn’t pick up on the first try, but when he calls again, she answers. Her voice is short and cranky when she says, “This better be important, this paper is due at midnight and I’m still not done.”

“The paper is perfect, Becca, and this is important.”

She sighs. “Okay, what?”

“I have like one minute because Steve’s in the bathroom, but I just don’t know if I can ask him—”

“Bucky. My god. He’s going to say yes. He already decorated a dumb tree with you and your kid sister. And you’re not going to ruin Christmas. They’ll love Steve. Steve is the _dream_. Just show up with him and say, ‘Hey, this is Steve, my hot boyfriend—’”

“Okay, but _is he my boyfriend_?”

“He’s your boyfriend.”

“But what if he—”

“He’s your boyfriend. But even if he isn’t, fine, just say, ‘Hey, this is Steve, my fella. Steve, this is my ma and pa.’ They won’t even bat an eye, I swear. Ma’s going to be too busy shoving pie at Steve to notice that he’s not the gender she was expecting.”

“Okay, okay. You’re right.”

“Damn right I’m right.”

“So is Steve really my boyfriend?”

“Oh, my god. You’re twenty-seven years old. Why don’t you _ask Steve_?”

“No, that would be terrifying,” Bucky says, panic lacing his voice. And then he sees Steve walking back to him, putting his own phone into his pocket, puffing his cheeks out as he exhales. “Okay, gotta go, he’s coming back, bye.”

Bucky hangs up before Becca can get another word in.

“Who were you talking to?” Steve asks once he’s reached Bucky, immediately rejoining their hands.

“Becca. She needed some help with this paper she has to submit tonight.”

“A paper for a science class?” Steve asks, furrowing his eyebrows.

“No, lit. Why does everyone think I’m incompetent at everything other than science?”

“Sorry, you’re right. I’m sure you’re great at English.”

“I’m not, I’m terrible, actually, but I appreciate your faith,” Bucky laughs. Steve leans in, then, and kisses him, longer than the one Bucky had given him at the door earlier but still appropriate for public. His hand is on Bucky’s jaw and yeah. Yeah, Bucky can do this. “Hey,” he interrupts.

“Yes?” Steve asks, pulling away just long enough to get the word out. He’s smiling as he leans back into Bucky after he says it, but Bucky stops him. He can’t be kissing when he says this. He gets a little fuzzy when Steve kisses him.

“I was wondering,” Bucky starts.

“Yeah?”

“If maybe.” Bucky takes a deep breath. Pauses. Closes his mouth.

“You okay?”

“Yeah. Sorry.” He steels himself. “I know that maybe this is sudden and weird and too early, but I was kind of maybe wondering if perhaps you’d want to go with me to my parents’ house for Christmas? As my date.” He pauses for half a second. “If that’s weird, you can tell me. It’s okay.”

Steve’s face is brighter than any of the lights they’ve seen that night, though, and something loosens in Bucky. “Well, I certainly hope that’s not weird, because I was going to ask if _you_ wanted to come with _me_ to _my_ mom’s house for Christmas.”

“Oh!”

“Yeah,” Steve says. “Sorry, I don’t know why I didn’t figure you’d have plans already.”

“Maybe we could just…go to both?” Bucky asks.

“I’d love that.”

So Bucky kisses Steve, this time. Slow. Sweet. Simple.

-

The trip back to Bucky’s apartment is a blur. Steve walks close to him, shoulders brushing and their hands tucked into Steve’s pocket because his coat is warmer than Bucky’s,and Steve runs cold. Bucky wants to soak it all in, but he’s so focused on their conversation.

_I’d love that._

So they’re going to two family Christmases.

Bucky’s taking a date to the Barnes family Christmas for the first time since high school, and it’s Steve and Steve is perfect, and Becca’s right, his parents will love Steve.

Bucky’s finding that it’s kind of impossible not to love Steve.

-

Steve kisses Bucky outside his apartment building. Under a streetlight, just the way Bucky had wanted to kiss him that very first night; he thinks, for a second, that it’s something he can check off his list of things to learn about Steve Rogers ( _how does he look when he’s been kissed good and proper in the snow, under a streetlight?_ ), but then he thinks better of it.

After all, he only knows what Steve Rogers looks like when he’s been kissed good and proper in the snow under _this_ streetlight. There are thousands of streetlights in the city, and even more in other cities.

_Wouldn’t want to limit ourselves,_ Bucky thinks.

-

As Bucky lets himself into the building, he turns back to Steve, who is still standing there.

“Let me know when you get home?” Bucky asks. Steve is rubbing off on him, but Bucky doesn’t mind. Not in the slightest.

Steve’s smile then is honest. “Of course,” he says.

-

Bucky calls Becca the second he’s in the door.

“My paper is due in less than an hour, make it quick.”

“I’m bringing Steve to Christmas dinner!”

“Of course you’re bringing Steve to Christmas dinner, I would have killed you if you didn’t, probably.”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever, finish your paper. Also, I’m going to his mom’s for Christmas, too.”

“ _What?_ ” Becca says, suddenly interested. “Okay, elaborate please.”

“Tomorrow. Finish your paper. I love you. Thanks for talking me into this,” he says. And he means it.

“Any time, Bucky.”

-

**So don’t shoot this idea down too quickly, but I was thinking ice skating tomorrow.**

**Also, I’m home.**

_great! also, yes. but please know that i am amazing at ice skating. i’m going to kick your ass at ice skating._

**I don’t think recreational ice skating is a competition.**

_it is, and i’m going to WIN._

**It’s a date, then. Ass-kicking on the ice at six o’clock tomorrow. I’ll meet you at your apartment.**

_perfect. :)_

**Goodnight, Bucky!!**

_goodnight, steve. :)_


	6. friday, december 19, 2014

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> God, Rogers, nice way to compliment him. “You look like there isn’t vomit on you.” Classy.  
> Or: Bucky's students are more adept than he is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not to get sappy, but i wrote this largely to cheer myself up this holiday season, and reading the comments has been really cool because apparently it's helped some of you out, too. i'm really glad that that's been possible.

“Hi, Nat,” Steve answers his phone, surprised. “What’s up? You usually text.”

“Steve Rogers, you better be available today, because you’ve been suspiciously quiet and I’m starting to get concerned that something happened with ugly sweater guy last night.”

“I can hang out today.”

“Did you ask him about your mom’s? Did he say yes?”

“I can hang out today as long as it’s before six.”

“Oh, God,” Natasha groans. “Please don’t say—”

“I can’t hang out after six because I have a date with Bucky at six.”

“Fuck,” Natasha says. “He said yes, didn’t he? I think you may be past the point of no return. I may not be able to help you now. You’ve got puppy-Steve voice. I can’t save you from yourself when you’re in puppy mode.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “I don’t need you to save me, Nat.”

She sighs. “Exactly what a hopeless cause would say.”

“Do you still want to hang out?”

“Yeah. Lunch. You’re buying.”

“I always buy.”

“Yeah, because you never object. Meet me at that burger place in twenty minutes.”

“I’ll be there.”

“Can I bring Sharon?”

“Are you trying to set me up with her again?”

“Why, Steve Rogers, I am offended at the implication. I would never.”

Steve gets up from his drawing desk and stretches, feeling his back crackle. He wipes the eraser shavings off his lap, leaving graphite smears on his khakis. “If you, Natasha Romanov, can honest-to-God tell me that you are bringing Sharon for _any reason_ other than to set her up with me, then yes. You can bring Sharon. I like Sharon.”

“I _know_ you like Sharon, that’s why I’m trying to set you up! God, Steve. Why do you have to make my life so difficult?”

“See you at the burger place in nineteen minutes, Nat.”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever, Rogers.”

-

They’ve only had their food for a few minutes when Natasha looks Steve dead on and says, “Okay, fine, spill about ugly sweater guy.” She rolls her eyes as she pokes at her fries.

“Bucky. And Nat, he’s taking me to his family’s Christmas dinner.”

Her hand freezes on its way to her mouth, and her eyes widen, but they soften too. “Did you ask him about your mom’s?

“Yeah,” Steve says, and he can hear the way his voice lilts around the word, like he’s tucking that word safely to bed, like he’s saving it for later, to remember how happy he is that that word is true. “He said yes. But he asked me to his ma’s first.”

“Wow, Steve,” Natasha says.

“I know.”

“Never mind.”

Steve furrows his eyebrows. “What am I never minding?”

“I take it back, I’m not even going to try to talk you out of this. You’ve clearly made up your mind, and you’re a pain in the ass when you get all stubborn.”

Steve takes a bite of his food so she won’t see how he’s grinning. “Yeah,” he says once he’s swallowed, “I think my mind is pretty set on him.”

“ _God_ , you’re so _sappy_.”

“I know.”

She smiles at him and shakes her head slowly. “What are we going to do with you, Rogers?” She leans forward. “So how’s the sex? It _has_ to be pretty great to make up for his dumbass clothes.”

“He doesn’t dress like that every day, Nat.”

“Don’t evade my questions.”

“I’m not _evading_ , I just—”

Natasha leans back in her chair and smirks at Steve. “Just don’t have an answer, huh? God, Rogers. Five dates and a sixth tonight and you haven’t even slept with the guy. You have it bad.”

Steve smiles. “Shut up.”

-

Bucky texts him while he’s finishing up lunch with Natasha. He doesn’t read it, but he sees the name on the screen, and Natasha rolls her eyes at the face he makes. “God, you really are a puppy. Go ahead, I don’t care.”

Steve pretends to hesitate before he opens it.

_hey, can i ask you a giant favor?_

**Is it legal?**

**Then yes, of course.**

_would you have agreed if i’d said it wasn’t?_

_noted. can you meet me at my apartment at four instead of six?_

**Wait, why?**

**Still yes, but why?**

He sends all three of those texts in quick succession, Natasha watching him in amusement. He glares at her, but it lacks any kind of heat.

_i got thrown up on today, and i really just want to go ice skating with my cute date._

**I can be there at four.**

_thank god. see you then, cute date._

**See you then!**

_:)_

_-_

It’s almost three already, and Steve still has to shower (again) and find new pants that aren’t covered in graphite. He excuses himself from lunch, tucking cash into the bill. Nat takes care of the tip, as usual, and crosses her arms as Steve tugs his coat on. She narrows her eyes, inspecting him.

“Yes?” Steve asks.

“Don’t wear khakis. Khakis are not seductive, Steve.”

“Who says I’m trying to seduce him?”

Natasha just raises an eyebrow, her mouth twitching up on one side.

“Whatever, Natasha. I wasn’t going to wear these pants anyway.”

-

He shows up to Bucky’s apartment at exactly four, but Bucky’s not there yet. Steve waits in the hallway for a few minutes before he hears someone running up the stairs, and it sounds like—

Sure enough, Bucky is bursting out of the stairwell, face red and lanyard held between his teeth. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he says around the cloth. He removes it from his mouth and hurries to the door. “Have you been waiting long?”

“Hours. I’ve been waiting here for hours, I think I may actually be disintegrating.”

“So, a few minutes?” Bucky laughs.

“Yeah, a few minutes.”

Steve follows Bucky into his apartment; Bucky sheds his bag and then starts twisting the buttons on his vest open as he makes his way back to his room. “Thanks for meeting me early!” he calls back over his shoulder. Steve tries not to think about the fact that Bucky’s in there unbuttoning his shirt, too.

“Yeah, of course! I thought you said someone threw up on you, though?”

“I did indeed.”

“So,” Steve starts, “why do you still look so nice?” _God, Rogers, nice way to compliment him. “You look like there isn’t vomit on you.” Classy._

“It was on my shoes,” Bucky yells down the hallway. “Remind me never to wear canvas shoes to school again.”

Steve winces. “Oh, God, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Bucky calls. “How was your day?”

“Well, it didn’t involve any vomit, so probably considerably better than yours,” Steve says. “It did involve a Natasha, though. She’s the one—”

“I met at the party, yeah! I remember her. The one who gives bad feedback on drawings.”

“That’s the one. We got lunch today.” _We just talked about you the whole time. You’re all I want to talk about these days, because you’re all I think about._

“I had lunch while walking home. So, yeah, I’d venture to say that your day was better than mine.”

Bucky emerges from his room, wearing only a fresh undershirt and a pair of tight jeans ( _he’s wearing tight jeans,_ Steve thinks. _He’s wearing_ extremely _tight jeans_ ). He doesn’t have shoes on, either, just socks (and it’s so casual, and that gets to Steve, possibly more than the extremely tight jeans). “Well, my day is certainly looking up,” Bucky says, and his eyes are shining as he looks at Steve. Steve tries to force his blush down, but he’s pretty sure he’s failing miserably. “Do you want anything to drink while you wait?” Bucky adds as he moves to the kitchen.

“How long am I going to be waiting?” Steve asks.

Bucky pops his head through the doorway. “Are you in a hurry? I figured we could take our time.”

Steve swallows, his breathing suddenly short. (Steve’s wearing jeans, too. _Khakis are not seductive, Steve._ ) “Yeah, no, I’m not in a hurry. I’d love something to drink.”

“What can I get for you?”

“I’m fine with anything. Surprise me.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Fine, then you’re just getting water because that doesn’t require me to wrestle with a bottle opener.”

Steve nods. He doesn’t fully hear Bucky anyway; his ears are doing the buzzing thing again that they sometimes do around Bucky, like his heartbeat is the only thing he can hear. It’s a little disconcerting, but he also likes it. He likes the way Bucky affects him, likes the way Bucky becomes the world when he’s around. And when he’s not around.

“Ice?”

Steve isn’t sure what he says, but he figures he must have said something affirmative, because the next thing Steve knows, Bucky’s standing in front of him, holding a glass of ice water. Steve takes it from him, thanks him (Steve hopes, at least. He’s not sure), and then grabs Bucky’s hand as he starts to walk away.

Bucky’s fingers are wet with condensation, and they slide against Steve’s. Steve doesn’t have to say anything, either, Bucky knows—Steve can see it in the way Bucky looks at him, then. He takes the glass out of Steve’s hand, moves it to the coffee table (carefully places it on a coaster). Everything’s a bit fuzzy, but he can read Bucky’s lips when he says, “Hey.”

Steve doesn’t answer. Instead, he pulls Bucky into him. Bucky stumbles a little on the way, not expecting the movement. Once he gains his footing, though, Bucky’s sliding onto the couch, and his legs are on either side of Steve’s, and _oh._

And Bucky’s kissing him, and it feels different than the other times they’ve kissed. Every time is a little different, but this feels like stepping off a cliff. Steve’s not sure he’ll ever get used to the way Bucky kisses. Like breathing is useless anyway, like he doesn’t need a break, like he could do this forever. Like Steve has an answer he needs to know, like maybe Steve _is_ the answer.

Steve, on the other hand, has to come up for air every once in a while, and the next time he does, Bucky doesn’t wait for him. Instead, he moves to Steve’s neck and shifts his hips against Steve’s. Steve sucks in a sharp breath.

“Sorry, are you okay?” Bucky asks, his voice deeper than it usually is, and his own chest is heaving, too, and he shifts against Steve again, maybe to give Steve some room, but it just makes Steve let out a long, slow breath, closing his eyes.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Steve says. He opens his eyes. “Definitely okay.”

Bucky laughs, his eyes sparkling again. “Hey, we don’t have to do this right now. We can wait.”

“Okay.”

“Or we don’t have to do it at all, if that’s not—”

And Steve doesn’t think before he says, “No, I want to,” but he’s glad he didn’t think, because he never would have said it if he had, and he’s glad that he said it, because Bucky’s looking at him in a way that makes Steve weightless.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, frankly.

“Me too.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah, wow.” Bucky clears his throat, shifts off of Steve. “Okay, I believe we have an ice skating date.”

“Yeah, I believe we do,” Steve says. He tries to recover as quickly as Bucky, but Bucky is already bounding down the hall, and Steve still feels like he can barely move.

“Just let me throw on a shirt!” Bucky calls back.

 _Just let me catch my breath,_ Steve thinks. _And get my mind out of the gutter._

_-_

When he comes back out, Bucky’s got a sweater thrown on over a collared shirt, and Steve wonders if Bucky knows how casually beautiful he is. It seems like maybe he doesn’t, like maybe he’s completely, distressingly unaware of how _much_ he is.

Bucky has scarves thrown over his arm, and he holds them out to Steve. “Take the top one. And you need to wear gloves tonight, your hands were freezing last time. I don’t want you to get sick.”

“I’ll be fine, it’s okay.”

“Please wear the scarf.”

He’s not sure he wants to test Bucky’s stubbornness against his own, and, besides, he likes that Bucky’s scarves smell like their owner. So, he says, “Fine.” Bucky grins at that and tosses the scarf around Steve’s neck the same way he had yesterday. He bundles himself up in his own coat and scarf; Steve throws on the hat he’d stored in his pocket, and they’re out the door.

-

They eat dinner before they make it to the rink, because they pass by a small Thai restaurant and Bucky says it smells too good to pass up.

Steve orders his food mild. Bucky likes it spicy. (”If your tongue’s not a little numb when you’re done, you’re doing Thai food wrong,” he claims. Steve doesn’t buy it.)

“I’m not kissing you after that,” Steve says as Bucky downs his third glass of water. “Water doesn’t help, you know.”

“Shut up, shut up, I’m dying.”

Steve laughs, and when Bucky finishes drinking, he looks back up and says, “And you are too kissing me again tonight.”

“Fine,” Steve sighs, as though it’s a burden. “I _guess_ I can manage that.”

“Thank God.”

-

Bucky Barnes is terrible at ice skating. Bucky Barnes is a _disaster_ at ice skating.

“I thought you said you were good at this!”

“Shut up,” Bucky mumbles as he clings to Steve’s arm a little tighter. He’s nearly falling even with Steve there for balance, and he’s glaring at the ice like it’s personally offended him. “Why is it so damn _slippery_?” he complains.

“Because it’s _ice_ , Bucky, what were you expecting?”

“I thought it’d be like roller skating.”

Steve laughs. “It is. Except the ground is made of frozen water and the skates are about a tenth of the width.”

“I hate this. I hate everything about this.”

And it’s funny, how desperate Bucky looks; he hasn’t even fallen yet (”And I don’t plan to!”), but he is terrified of the ice like a small child would be. Steve loves it, that Bucky, whose eyes sometimes carry so much sadness even when he’s happy, can still look this young.

-

“No,” Bucky murmurs after they’ve been skating for thirty minutes or so. His eyes are going a little wide. “Please, no.”

“What?”

“Did she see me?”

“Who?” Steve asks, getting concerned now.

“There’s a girl,” Bucky says, “in a red hat and a white jacket, and she’s holding hands with a boy in a bright blue scarf, and they’re my students, and I think they saw me, and I think they’re coming over here.”

“Oh,” Steve says. “Do you want me to let go of your hand? Is this not appropriate?”

“ _God_ no,” Bucky says, and he looks horrified at the idea. “I’d _definitely_ fall on my ass if you did that. Just hold on really tight and don’t move and if we’re careful enough, maybe they won’t see how ridiculously bad at this I am.” He takes a deep breath. “Are they coming over here?”

“ _Mr. Barnes?_ ” the girl calls out. “Oh, my gosh! That’s Mr. Barnes!”

“Yes, they are,” Steve says.

“Yeah, thanks, I got that, Steve,” Bucky groans.

“Any time.”

They’re skating over quickly, and Bucky mutters, “Why are my students better at this than I am?”

“Mr. Barnes, oh my gosh!” the girl says. “What are you doing here?”

“Hey, Jeannie! I’m ice skating.”

She laughs, as though that was a hilarious joke. “You’re funny.”

“Thanks, Jeannie. Hey, Marcus. How about you? What are _you_ two doing here?”

“We’re ice skating, too,” the boy, Marcus, says.

“We’re on a date,” Jeannie admits, her smile shy but excited. The two are standing a good two feet apart, but they can’t be more than fourteen, so Steve cuts them some slack. He would have been a lot more awkward than that at their age. He probably still is, a lot of the time.

“Is that so?” Bucky asks. Steve thinks that maybe Bucky’s going to hide their linked hands, or at the very least not acknowledge them. Instead, he holds them up and says, “Me too!”

Jeannie’s smile falls a little at that. “Oh, cool.”

“Yeah, this is Steve,” Bucky says. “He’s making sure I don’t fall down.” He lowers his voice to a stage whisper and says, “I’m shit at ice skating.”

And they don’t react to their teacher swearing, so Steve figures it must be something he’s done before.

“I’m sure you’re not,” Marcus assures him.

“Is he, Steve?” Jeannie asks.

“He really is, Jeannie.”

Bucky’s students think that’s hilarious. They stay to chat for a few minutes longer, until Bucky excuses himself and Steve. “Well, I think we’re going to be calling it a night here pretty soon.” They look disappointed, but they wave and skate back across the ice. Steve watches as Jeannie reaches out and takes Marcus’s hand.

-

“Oh my god,” Steve says.

“What?” Bucky asks. When Steve doesn’t answer, just marvels at Bucky, Bucky adds, “’Oh my god’ what?”

“Are you the hot teacher?” Steve asks, and he can’t hold back his laughter anymore.

“Oh my god.”

“You are! You’re the hot teacher!”

“Shut up, no I’m not.”

“Oh, my god, I’m on a date with the hot teacher.”

“Get me off this ice so I can kick your ass, Rogers.”

“Fine, fine, let’s go.”

Once they’re off the ice and free of their skates, Bucky lets out a long sigh. “Let’s never go ice skating again,” he says.

Steve kisses his cheek (and when did that start feeling normal? It’s so familiar, it’s so quiet, and Steve loves the way his lips tingle on Bucky’s skin) as they start the walk home. “We don’t have to go next year.”

_Next year._

“Good. I’m going to kick your ass at roller skating next year.”

“Well, you were _supposed_ to kick my ass at ice skating tonight, so I’m starting to think these are empty threats.”

“No, ask Becca. I am amazing at roller skating.”

Steve grins and holds Bucky’s hand a little tighter. “Christmas roller skating next year sounds perfect.”

_Next year. Next year._

-

When they get back to Steve’s apartment, Bucky pauses at the front of the building, but Steve pulls him, wordless, inside. Bucky doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t say anything when Steve pauses in the stairwell to kiss him (”There were too many students around to kiss you at the rink, but I wanted to.” “I wanted you to.”).

And Steve doesn’t say anything when Bucky follows him into the apartment.

As soon as the door is closed, Bucky is backing Steve up against it, hand on Steve’s waist, mouth on Steve’s neck, exactly where it had been earlier.

“Hey,” Bucky says, the same way he had at the couch.

“Hey.” Steve is breathing hard again.

“Is this okay?” Bucky asks. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, Mr. Barnes, I’m fine.”

Bucky groans and tips his forehead onto Steve’s chest. “If you turn out to have some weird teacher thing, I swear—”

“I’m just teasing, sorry. I’m fine. You can, uh, continue, if you want.”

“Oh, thank God.” And Bucky’s hand is twisting the buttons open on Steve’s coat, and Steve’s thankful for the door holding him up; the way Bucky’s kissing him is—well. He’s thankful for that door. He pushes Bucky’s coat off, loosens his scarf and throws it aside, and slides his hands onto Bucky’s hips, under his sweater.

“ _Shit_ ,” Bucky says against Steve’s lips, “your hands are _cold._ ”

“Sorry, sorry,” Steve says, and he starts to pull them away, but Bucky grabs his wrist and pulls Steve’s hand back into place.

“No, it’s fine.”

They’re starting to stumble away from the door, and they’re just tipping over the arm of the couch when Steve, from where he’s balancing himself above Bucky, asks, “Have you had a lot of experience dating people who have weird teacher things?”

“No, but I have some experience running away from them,” Bucky laughs.

“Good to know.” But Bucky’s hand is pulling Steve in by the waist, and he’s shifting his hips that way he did earlier, and Steve’s breathless again.

“So,” Bucky starts, and their faces are close; Bucky watches Steve’s lips. “It’s not a school night.”

“That’s true.”

“So.”

“So you can stay here tonight?”

“If you want me to.”

“Do you want to?” Steve asks.

“I really, really do.”

And they’re grinning now, and Steve pulls Bucky off the couch, because if they’re going to do this (and it really seems like they are), he doesn’t want to do it on the couch. “My room is down the hall,” he says, before Bucky cuts him off. He lets Bucky lead the way.

-

They’re toeing off shoes and losing clothing quickly, stumbling over the clutter in Steve’s apartment, but it’s not until Steve’s lifting Bucky onto a counter and stepping between his legs that Steve gets a little confused. And then Bucky’s falling backwards, into the sink. In his effort to catch himself, his hand knocks the faucet, and, “ _Fuck_ ,” he mutters. “Why is there a sink in your room?”

When he jumps down from the counter, the backside of his pants is soaked.

“This isn’t my room,” Steve explains. “Why are we in the bathroom?” And he can’t help but laugh then.

“Because your directions are _shit_ , apparently.” But Bucky’s laughing too, then, and their kisses are a little less frantic, then, interrupted by smiling and laughing, but they make their way to the bedroom.

-

Steve’s sweater tangles on its way over his head.

-

Bucky stares at Steve, then, and Steve thinks maybe he should be nervous. But he’s not, he’s amazed and he’s excited, but he’s not nervous.

“Would it be too forward of me to move you to the bed?” Steve asks, as they stand there, just inside the door.

“Oh God,” Bucky says. “Please do.”

-

Steve guides Bucky onto the bed, and as he’s sitting there on the edge, Bucky takes his shirt off, smoother than Steve. Steve might not be breathing, but as he tips Bucky back and settles between his legs, he’s not sure if he cares.

-

There’s yellow light spilling through the blinds from the streetlights outside, and Bucky is naked on his bed. Steve’s not sure how he got here, but he lowers himself closer, so he can kiss Bucky again.

-

(Again, again.)

-

“How are you?” Steve asks, after. He’s smiling into Bucky’s shoulder.

Bucky shrugs. “I’ve been better.”

“Oh really?” Steve pushes himself onto one elbow.

“Yeah, like five minutes ago. That was better. This is a close second, though.”

“Jerk.”

“Punk,” Bucky says, and his eyes crinkle as he pulls Steve back down.


	7. saturday, december 20, 2014

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Because you’ve got stars in your eyes and you’ve seen him every day since you met him, and I think you’re falling for him.”  
> Bucky shrugs. “Steve makes it pretty easy to fall.”  
> Or: Bucky loves a lot of things about Steve.

He loves the way Steve wakes up.

-

Bucky’s arm is slung around Steve’s middle, his chest pressed flush against Steve’s back. Their legs are a tangled mess with the sheets, and Bucky likes feeling Steve’s skin against his own. Bucky slides his hand lightly up Steve’s chest, trying his best not to wake him up. This feels like a rare moment, waking up before Steve on a weekend, so he takes his time to enjoy it. Rests his hand just under Steve’s collar bone and listens to him breathe; he’s making  small noises in his sleep, halfway between a murmur and a snore, and he breathes out through his mouth.

Bucky buries his face in the back of Steve’s neck and takes stock of everything that’s happening right now.

It’s about twenty minutes before Steve is stirring awake, too, and then he’s rolling over and rubbing his eyes. He yawns, and Bucky likes the way Steve’s hair is crushed to his skull on the left side.

“Good morning,” Steve says, and his voice is still low with sleep; Bucky likes that, too. He also likes the way Steve pulls Bucky in closer and fits his head under Bucky’s chin, the way Steve pulls Bucky’s arm back around himself before he gets well and truly settled.

“Good morning,” Bucky answers, and he can feel Steve’s lips stretching wide against the skin of his chest.

-

He loves the way Steve looks at him.

-

Bucky’s not entirely sure whether either of them falls back asleep or if time just passes quickly when Steve’s plastered against him. He’s just getting ready to suggest a lazy Saturday when Steve takes a deep breath through his nose and starts to pull away.

“You have to leave or else yesterday and today are only going to count as one date,” he says. His eyes are still mostly closed and his face is a little dopey.

“So?” Bucky asks, chasing the last vestiges of sleepiness.

“So that would be breaking the rules.”

“There are rules?”

“We have a streak to maintain, of course there are rules.”

Bucky groans and turns into his pillow. “Fucking streak. All I wanted was some nice, simple morning sex.” He sighs and rolls over. Steve is getting out of bed, and Bucky watches him begin the search for his clothes.

“So what’s tonight’s date?” Bucky calls from the bed. The sounds of Steve hopping into his pants and buckling the belt filter back to the bedroom, and then there’s Steve in the doorway, pulling his shirt on over his head.

“It’s a surprise.”

“No fair,” Bucky says as he sits up and stretches. He catches Steve staring at him. His eyes are wide and distant, like maybe he’s considering getting back in bed. “Okay, I really have to go. If you keep looking at me like that, your clothes will be coming back off and then I’ll never get out of here.”

Steve takes a deep breath, lets it out through puffed cheeks and pursed lips. “Okay, okay, get going.”

“Fine, but I’m just saying. Morning sex isn’t off the table yet.”

-

He loves the face Steve makes when he’s accidentally sexy.

-

Bucky follows Steve to the front door, picking his clothes up along the way. He takes longer than necessary to get re-dressed. Once the door is cracked open enough for Bucky to slip through, Steve starts nudging him toward the door and says, “Okay, bye for real now.”

“What time?” Bucky asks.

“Pick you up at seven?”

“Four.”

“Six.”

“Five. That’s my final offer, Rogers.”

“Fine, fine. Five it is. Shower while I’m gone.”

“You really thought I wasn’t going to shower?”

“You never know,” Steve says as he leans in. “And wear something nice tonight,” he adds, lips on Bucky’s.

“So, are we talking ‘ugly sweaters’ fancy or ‘Tony’s Christmas party’ fancy?”

“Christmas party fancy.”

Bucky raises his eyebrows. “Dressed in a suit at five in the evening?”

“Well, we’ll need some time to take it off and put it back on.”

Bucky’s not sure he intended to affect Bucky that strongly, but there are goosebumps running up Bucky’s arm and his hand is tightening in the fabric of Steve’s shirt.

-

He loves that Steve always kisses him goodbye.

-

“Okay, bye _for real_ for real this time,” Steve says. He kisses Bucky for a little longer than is strictly appropriate, and then gives a manic grin and guides Bucky into the hallway.

Bucky stands with his forehead against the door for a few seconds before dragging his feet down the hall.

-

He loves that Steve can be a goddamn asshole when he wants to be.

-

As Bucky takes a shower, he dries his hand off every few minutes to reach out and text Steve.

_can i come back?_

_it’s been fifteen minutes. that’s long enough._

_we’re fine now. streak maintained._

_i’m texting you from the shower, don’t you want to come over?_

_sorry was that too much?_

_either way can we call it good on the intermission, i can be clothed if you want._

_this better be worth it._

It’s not until thirty minutes later that Steve responds, and it’s not even words.

**:)**

_i hate you_

**See you at six!!**

_IT’S FIVE. YOU BETTER BE HERE AT FIVE._

**See you at five!!**

**:)**

_……:)_

-

He loves the easy way Steve’s name rolls off his tongue.

-

“Peggy,” Bucky says, after spending thirty minutes trying to pick out an outfit. “I need your help.” Steve won’t be there for another two hours, but Bucky is starting to panic.

“It’s Saturday, I am under no obligation to talk to you today.”

“You’re under no obligation to talk to me any day. You do it because you like me.”

Peggy just sighs on the other end of the line, and Bucky knows he’s right, even though she’ll never say it. “I really don’t, but fine. What do you need?”

“I get to see Steve in a suit tonight.” _Steve._

Bucky can practically hear her rolling her eyes. “Oh, are you getting married finally?”

“Tragically, no,” Bucky says, and _is that a weird thing to say? Whatever, it’s true._ “Steve is taking me out to a fancy dinner tonight, but he refuses to admit that that’s what we’re doing, but he told me to dress up nice, but he said pants are required, but I don’t know what to wear because Steve is going to look great, Steve always looks great and I want to look great too but Steve is beautiful and Peggy, I need help please get over here or at least let me send you pictures of my options.” _Steve Steve Steve Steve._

“I’m actually in the neighborhood,” Peggy says, “so I’ll just come over there. Your mirror pictures are ridiculous.”

“I love you,” Bucky says.

“Stop.”

“I love you, and I’d have your babies if I didn’t like Steve so much.”

“Yes, but _I_ wouldn’t have _your_ babies, which is the actual important part.”

“My offer still stands.”

Peggy sighs again; Bucky knows that sigh well, but it really means _James, you’re ridiculous but I love you against my better judgement._

She’s there in about ten minutes, and Bucky’s still sitting in the middle of the room in his boxers and an undershirt. Peggy doesn’t even falter when she walks in. “Please buy adults’ underwear next time, James.”

“These are adults’ underwear.”

“Underwear for real adults. Not the adults who think chemistry jokes are funny.”

“I think chemistry jokes are funny.”

“My point exactly.”

Bucky starts throwing options onto the bed and holding them up to himself. Peggy perches at the end of the sheets, and Bucky tries not to think about the way he’d been sitting in that same exact spot on Steve’s bed last night when—

He gives a valiant effort to get his thoughts back on track.

“Okay, do you want a dark outfit or a light outfit?” Peggy asks, rifling through the options Bucky has tossed her way.

“I want an attractive outfit. This is Steve we’re talking about, Peggy.” _Steve._

She raises an eyebrow at him.

“Okay, fine. Light shirt, dark jacket, I guess. But not black.”

She studies his bed and his closet for a moment before snatching a few items with shocking speed. She hands Bucky his charcoal suit. “Here. Charcoal suit and vest, red shirt, cream tie. Go.”

Bucky’s chest loosens. “You are magical.”

“Stop. Get dressed.”

So Bucky starts getting his clothes on while Peggy seats herself back on the bed. “So what’s with the furor? How fancy did he say to be?”

“Fancy enough to go to a Tony Stark party.”

Peggy nods appreciatively. “He’s not kidding around, is he?”

“Well, neither am I,” Bucky says.

He can almost see a ghost of a smile pass across Peggy’s face before she says, “Poor Steve, stuck with a sap like you.”

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees. “Poor Steve.” _Steve._

Bucky crosses to the bathroom to get started on his hair, and he’s expecting Peggy to leave after that, but instead, she comes and leans against the counter next to him. “So,” she starts, “I know I’m going to regret asking this, but do you want to tell me about Steve?”

“Why, Ms. Carter,” Bucky starts.

“James.”

“Okay, fine. Why, _Peggy_. Why do you want to know?”

“Because you’ve got stars in your eyes and you’ve seen him every day since you met him, and I think you’re falling for him.”

Bucky shrugs. “Steve makes it pretty easy to fall.”

-

He loves that Peggy approves of Steve.

-

“So let me get this straight,” Peggy starts. “Not only is he an artist, he’s also kind and supposedly handsome and intelligent and thoughtful and just as sappy as you are?”

“You forgot so much stuff about him, Peggy.”

“Yes, his nice smile and his golden hair and his tight clothing and his musical laugh. So sorry.”

“And the beautiful, beautiful way he kisses.”

Peggy shakes her head, slowly, smirking. “You’re so far gone on this man, James.”

“I know.”

“He seems like a good choice to get gone on, though.”

“I know.”

-

He loves the way Steve _looks_ at him.

-

When Bucky answers the door, it’s only after hours of getting ready and telling Peggy every detail he can think to tell (he could have gone on for at least another day), and he’s practically vibrating out of his skin with excitement.

Bucky’s breath disappears when he sees Steve—dressed to the nines and cleanly shaven and _perfect_ —but it’s stolen from him again when his gaze reaches Steve’s eyes. Steve is looking at Bucky in a million ways at the same time. Like he wants Bucky out of the suit as soon as possible, like he wants Bucky never to wear anything else, like he wants Bucky to never wear anything at all, like he wants to smile he wants to kiss Bucky he wants to laugh and possibly dance in the kitchen. Like maybe he’s forgotten how to speak, and Bucky’s never been looked at like that before, but he’s drunk on it now.

“Hey,” Bucky says, and Steve finally meets his eyes.

“Hey,” he says, voice strangled and eyes a little hungry.

Bucky opens the door wider so that Steve can see that Peggy’s still in the apartment, having refused to leave before she could formally approve of Steve. “This is my friend, Peggy Carter,” Bucky says. “She wanted to meet you to make sure you’re a suitable date for her young ward.”

Peggy rolls her eyes, but she meets them at the door and shakes Steve’s hand. “Pleased to meet you, Steve. I’ve heard so much about you.”

“Oh, my God,” Bucky complains. “You’re like my ma in high school.”

“Pleased to meet you, too, Ms. Carter.”

“Peggy.”

Steve nods. “Peggy.”

“Fantastic. Now get going, you two. James is driving me crazy.”

“This is my apartment.”

“Yes, and you have a nicer television set than I do, so I’m going to use it as payment for being your dresser today.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Fine. See you later, Ms. Carter.”

He leads Steve out of the apartment by the hand before Peggy can get mad at him about the name. Outside the door, Bucky kisses Steve and says, “Sorry about that. I know we were planning on some pre-dinner activities, but I couldn’t get Peggy to leave.”

“You’re really bad at kicking people out of your apartment.”

“You should have seen the time Kate got frustrated with Clint and decided to move in with me. Unbeknownst to me.”

“Should I know who Kate and Clint are?” Steve asks.

“I’ll tell you over dinner,” Bucky says. He can feel Steve’s eyes on him the whole way out of the building.

He gets a text from Peggy.

**I’ll make sure to be out in an hour or two in case you need it tonight. Which, judging by the way Steve was looking at you, you will.**

-

He loves Steve’s impulsiveness.

-

They get distracted meandering on the way to the restaurant, so when Steve realizes the time, he says, “Shoot, we have reservations, _run!”_

Bucky’s not sure why he follows, he doesn’t know why he doesn’t suggest getting a cab instead, or calling the restaurant to warn them, but he doesn’t. He holds on tight to Steve’s hand and they _run_.

-

He loves that Steve knows more about pie than wine.

-

The restaurant is extremely fancy. They sit down in their nice clothes to their nice, pre-set table and are handed heavy menus, and their legs are covered in the street sludge of dirt and half-melted snow. Their jackets are askew and they’re breathing hard. The waiter takes one look at them and directs them to the wine selections silently, crinkling his nose a bit. Steve asks Bucky what he prefers, and Bucky just shoots Steve a clueless look. He’s had wine maybe twice in his life outside of college, where it usually came from a box and was carried around in a water bottle for convenience.

“We’ll need a minute,” Steve tells the waiter, after that.

When they’re alone again, Steve looks at Bucky frankly. “Well,” he starts. “We tried the fancy thing.”

“We did. Suits. Ties. Reservations”

“We even glanced at a wine menu.”

“We’re fancy as _shit_ , Steve Rogers.”

“So, call it a night? Eat somewhere else?”

“Thank god,” Bucky says, grinning.

They get up, and the restaurant staff seems relieved to see them go. As soon as they’re out of the building, Steve’s grabbing onto Bucky’s hand and leading him down the street.

“Where are we going?” Bucky asks.

“To get the best pie and milkshakes you’ll ever have.”

“Will I be allowed to order non-dessert food?”

“I mean,” Steve starts. “You _could_. But I don’t know why you _would._ ”

On the way there, Steve asks Bucky what his favorite flavor of pie is (anything chocolate), and he figures it’s so he can tell his mom. Bucky’s ma is always bugging him to know his friends’ and girlfriends’ favorite pie so she can make it for them. He grins when Steve says his is apple.

“Figures.”

“Why?”

“Just. Look at you. Of course your favorite pie is apple.”

“Shut up,” Steve says.

Bucky kisses his cheek instead.

-

He loves the way Steve draws.

-

The diner turns out to be one Steve had visited often with his mom when he was younger; the waitress there, Helen, knows Steve right away and seems thrilled to see him. She’s especially kind to them all night, and Steve tells Bucky stories about the years of coming here, how he and his mom would only come on Saturday nights because that’s when Helen was always working.

While they sit there, Steve starts asking Bucky questions—about his family (it’s big, they’re all crazy), about his childhood (I lost an arm when I was twelve, it wasn’t a picnic), about his feelings towards dogs (he likes them).

“But do you _want_ a dog?” Steve asks.

“I wouldn’t protest a dog.”

“But tell me. If I offered you a dog or a cat, which one would you adopt?”

“Depends on the cat, depends on the dog,” Bucky answers with a shrug.

Steve looks scandalized. “I can’t believe I’m dating a _cat person_.”

“A _some cats_ person. I’m also a _some dogs_ person.”

“Dog person all the way, that’s the only acceptable answer for someone I’m going to continue to date.”

“Are we going to continue to date?”

“I certainly hope so.”

“Well, then I guess the answer would have to be the dog, because I couldn’t bring a cat home to you.”

_Home to you._

And Bucky gets a little embarrassed, a little excited at that, so he smiles and looks at the table. That’s when he notices that Steve’s been drawing on a napkin this whole time, and it looks an awful lot like Bucky.

“Is that me?” he asks.

“Yeah, sorry,” Steve says. “I hope that’s okay. It’s not very good.”

“It’s definitely okay with me,” Bucky says.

Bucky steals the drawing and tucks it into his wallet when Steve goes to the bathroom, because Steve’s “not very good” is still jaw-dropping, still phenomenal, still worth saving.

Steve draws like a poem, and Bucky wants to save every word.

-

He loves that Steve’s legs wrap perfectly around his own.

-

They tangle legs under the table, gentle and innocent and uncomplicated.

They tangle legs back at Bucky’s apartment, harried and desperate and reverent.

-

He loves that Steve loses his filter sometimes.

-

“Do you want to move to my room?” Bucky asks as he pays extra attention to the spot where Steve’s neck meets his shoulder.

“What?” Steve asks from under him, his voice a bit dazed.

Bucky sits up, his knees framing Steve’s hips. “I don’t know what, um, you’re interested in doing tonight,” Bucky starts, “but most of my stuff is in my room.” Steve doesn’t answer, just keeps looking up at him with that damn desperate look on his face. “Like. Condom stuff. Lube stuff. Also a mattress.”

“I don’t care what we do,” Steve says, “As long as you don’t move, and you don’t stop moving your hips like that.”

Bucky laughs, then, sharp and loud and joyous. “Yeah?” he asks. “Didn’t realize it was working that well.”

“Then you’re not very observant,” Steve says, pulling him back down.

“Okay,” Bucky says. “Couch sex it is.” He slides down the couch to undo Steve’s pants. He slips them down and kisses the inside of Steve’s thigh and adds, “As long as you’re okay with that.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Steve says, and Bucky likes the way his voice sounds around that word, in this context. “Just _stop talking_.”

So Bucky stops talking.

-

He loves that Steve doesn’t mind Bucky’s cold toes.

-

Afterwards, when Steve has lay boneless for a while, then rearranged their positions (with some difficulty and more than one tumble off the edge of the couch) and drawn unholy moans from Bucky, they relocate to the bedroom, where Bucky throws back the covers just long enough for both of them to slide in and against each other.

Steve’s still warm, so Bucky wiggles his frozen feet between Steve’s calves.

“Jerk,” Steve says.

“Not my fault you’re warm, punk.”

And Steve doesn’t dislodge the cold toes, just sandwiches them between his own feet and works himself further into Bucky’s arms.

-

_He loves the way Steve looks at him._

_-_

Steve looks right at Bucky when he says, “Goodnight, cute date,” and his eyes are soft and they’re steady and Bucky loves those eyes, too.

And Bucky can feel it. He’s not falling anymore. It’s a done deal.

_-_

He thinks maybe he loves _Steve._


	8. sunday, december 21, 2014

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I told you not to laugh,” Steve says.  
> “I’m not. I’m just saying. Do you have an American flag tattooed somewhere and I just missed it?”  
> Or: Bucky sings, and Steve falls in love.

“I have to go,” Steve says as Bucky kisses his way up his neck, paying special attention to the places he left marks last night.

Bucky groans. “The bathroom’s down the hall, make it fast.”

Steve pushes Bucky away from him lightly. “That’s not what I mean, and you know it.” He thinks about getting out of bed, but it’s warm and there’s Bucky and he doesn’t really want to find his clothes; he also doesn’t really want to walk out of this apartment in his suit, but he doesn’t have another option. He knows he probably looks like a wreck—Bucky’s hair certainly does—but he also knows for a fact that it was worth it.

Bucky pulls him in close, his hand sliding down to fit around Steve’s ass, and okay, maybe Steve should have put some clothes on earlier if he wanted to get out of this apartment on time. “Just a few more minutes,” Bucky murmurs against the shell of Steve’s ear, and then Steve can’t quite think straight, not when Bucky’s doing _that;_ it’s a miracle that Steve’s eye catches on Bucky’s alarm clock.

“Oh, god, no, stop,” Steve says, but it’s not really convincing when his voice is strained like that. Bucky freezes anyway.

“What? Sorry, did I do something wrong?”

“No, no, I just. I sort of promised my mom I’d get Sunday brunch with her,” Steve says, catching his breath. “Every Sunday.”

Bucky flops back onto the pillows, finally withdrawing his hand from where it’s sneaked below the sheets. “Oh, no,” he groans. “You’re a mama’s boy, aren’t you?”

“My mom is amazing.”

“Oh, God. My boyfriend is a _mama’s boy,”_ Bucky says, but Steve misses the teasing tone.

“Boyfriend?” His body feels like it’s going numb, and Steve can’t hold back his grin.

Bucky pushes himself up so he can lean back against the headboard. “Well,” he starts. “Yeah. Boyfriend. If, uh, you want to be. My. Y’know. Boyfriend. I’d sort of like to be. Your. Boyfriend. Or something. If that’s what you—”

Steve lunges forward, his hand going to cradle the back of Bucky’s head, and he’s kissing Bucky open-mouthed and enthusiastic, and when he draws back, he likes that Bucky’s cheeks are tinged pink.

“So I’ll take that as a yes?” Bucky says, and his laugh is the definition of relief.

“Yes,” Steve says, and he kisses Bucky again.

-

“Just a few more minutes?” Bucky asks, once he’s managed to get Steve back into a horizontal position.

“No, no, I have to go. I can’t be all red the entire time I’m at brunch with my mom.”

Steve drags himself away from Bucky, out of bed. Bucky follows him into the kitchen, where the bulk of their clothing was shed the night before. He starts getting dressed once he finds his underwear, and Bucky watches.

“Not going to get dressed?” Steve asks.

“I’m not seeing _my_ ma today. I can be buck naked as long as I want,” he says. “So, what’s this about staying pink? Is that like ‘stay gold, Ponyboy?’”

“You have no idea what that reference means, do you?”

“No, I do, I just thought it was a funny thing to say.”

“You have teacher humor,” Steve teases.

“That is a slanderous lie. Take that back.”

As Steve drapes his tie around his neck, leaving it undone, he leans in to peck Bucky’s lips one last time. “I’ll tell you about the pink thing later,” he says.

“Later?”

“Meet here at seven for date number eight? Pretend that didn’t rhyme.”

“No, I’m sorry, Dr. Seuss, I’m actually in a relationship with this dork named Steve.”

“See you then!”

“See you then, cute date.”

-

It’s the first thing he says after pleasantries. “I met this guy, Mom. His name is Bucky, and I think I really like him.”

-

He spends the whole lunch talking about Bucky.

“When do you see him again?” his mom asks.

“Tonight.”

“Tonight? Didn’t you see him last night?”

Steve furrows his eyebrows, and before he can ask how she knew, Sarah Rogers points to his neck where his collar only halfway hides Bucky’s handiwork.

“Oh, God.”

She laughs. “Good on you, Steve.”

-

_What does he do? What does he look like? What’s his middle name? What’s his birthday?_

He’s a middle school science teacher; he’s handsome, he has a crooked smile, he has the saddest happiest eyes I’ve ever seen; I don’t know I don’t know.

-

“Can he come to Christmas, Mom?” and he feels like a teenager again, inviting his first girlfriend to pizza night.

“Something tells me he’s already coming.”

“Well. Yeah.”

“Of course he can come, Steve. What pie does he want?”

And Steve knew she’d say yes, that’s why he asked Bucky about the pie flavors last night, but now he’s really imagining Bucky meeting his mother, who is everything to him, and his mom meeting Bucky, who is becoming everything, and it feels like there’s something important about this moment.

-

He calls Bucky as soon as he leaves.

“My mom says my very handsome boyfriend can come to Christmas.”

Bucky gives a thoughtful hum. “Okay, but can your _exceedingly_ handsome boyfriend come? Because that’s all I really care about, honestly. That other guy is a slouch.”

“Yeah, he can come, too, but I warned her that that one is kind of a jerk.”

“Still see you at seven?”

“Can I come at five?”

“Yeah, Steve. You can come at five.”

-

As soon as Bucky’s opened the door, Steve is talking. “What’s your middle name? What’s your birthday?”

Bucky doesn’t question it. “Buchanan. March tenth.”

“Buchanan?”

“Yeah, where did you think the name Bucky came from?”

“Bucky is a nickname?”

Bucky makes an incredulous face. “You really thought my ma looked at tiny baby me and said ‘I’ll name him _Bucky_ ’?”

“Well…”

“It’s short for Buchanan.”

“Then what’s your first name?” Steve asks.

“James.”

“ _James._ ”

“Yeah.”

“That’s terrible.”

Bucky laughs. “I know. So what about you?”

“Grant.”

“Buchanan and Grant. How patriotic of us,” Bucky says. “Birthday?”

“July Fourth. Don’t laugh.”

“Wow. Plus the apple pie? Now _that’s_ patriotic.”

“I told you not to laugh,” Steve says.

“I’m not. I’m just saying. Do you have an American flag tattooed somewhere and I just missed it?”

-

Once Steve’s actually gotten through the doorway, Bucky pulls him in for a light kiss. “Do you want to sit on my couch and watch the Christmas specials on ABC Family? My favorite is on tonight.”

“Really? Mine is too!”

“ _The Year Without a Santa Claus_?” Bucky asks excitedly.

“ _Santa Claus is Coming to Town._ But I’ll watch both.”

“Perfect.”

-

Bucky sings along with the Heat Miser. He joins Steve for “One Foot in Front of the Other,” even though he doesn’t know all the lyrics the way Steve does.

Steve thinks, just maybe, he might be falling in love.

-

Steve talks too much about the animation, he can feel it. He can feel the moment he crosses into the “too much detail” zone.

But Bucky’s listening. He’s listening the whole time.

-

“Do you have _Rudolph_ on DVD?” Steve asks as the credits roll on _Santa Claus is Coming to Town._

“Do I—what kind of person do you take me for, Steve Rogers? I’m not a _heathen._ Of _course_ I have _Rudolph_ on DVD.”

So they watch _Rudolph._

-

About twenty minutes in, Bucky’s hand is sneaking up Steve’s shirt, and it’s not until Steve is gasping into Bucky’s mouth that Bucky pulls away.

“It feels wrong to get handsy during _Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer._ ”

“It really does,” Steve says, throwing his head back onto the arm of the couch.

“I’d say we could turn it off, but I really want to see Yukon Cornelius,” Bucky says.

“The kissing can wait for after Yukon Cornelius.”

Steve doesn’t know if he’ll ever get tired of the way Bucky’s face lights up from the eyes down.

“I like you, Steve Rogers.”

-

Steve starts laughing in the middle of Bucky’s kiss, after the movie has ended.

“What?” Bucky asks. “Something funny, punk?”

“I have the song from the Island of Misfit Toys stuck in my head.”

“Oh my God, Steve.”

“Sorry, sorry. I’m fine. Kiss me again.”

But this time, Bucky starts singing against Steve’s lips, and they can’t quite get all the way through a kiss.


	9. monday, december 22, 2014

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Don’t change, I like your teacher clothes.”  
> “Steve Rogers, if you call me Mr. Barnes again, I swear—”  
> “I’m not going to call you Mr. Barnes again. I just want everyone to know that I’m dating the hot teacher.”  
> Or: Bucky tells his ma. Sort of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey, sorry this chapter is late, i forgot to post it yesterday. in that same vein, the last chapters are probably also going to be late, not because i forgot about them but because life happens sometimes and it's happening to me right now. i'm sorry, and i hope you're all having a nice week!

It’s weird, now, to wake up without Steve next to him. Bucky groans when the other side of the bed is cold, and he immediately reaches for his phone. When he picks it up, there’s already a text waiting for him, received at five in the morning.

**Good morning, Bucky!**

Bucky rolls his eyes and squints at his bright phone screen as he responds.

_why were you awake at five am?_

_good morning though :)_

**I went running with Sam! We’re at breakfast now.**

_oh, sam the running buddy. tell him i say hi!_

**He says, “Hi back to Steve’s cute boyfriend.” Aren’t you going to be late for school?**

_oh, steve. you underestimate my skills._

**Well, good luck!! I’ll talk to you later?**

_definitely. are you interested in a special movie night tonight?_

**Yes!! :)**

_:)_

**:)**

_hey, steve._

**Hey, Bucky!**

_i’m your cute boyfriend._

**:)!**

-

Bucky is incredibly distracted for the duration of the school day. He has two left before break, and his students seem resolutely determined to cause every single problem possible. He’s in a daze of Steve, though, so he’s not too bothered by the rubber bands flying through the air and the interruptions that happen every other word while he’s trying to give instructions. Bucky is too busy thinking of the way it already feels normal to sleep in the same bed as Steve, that the first thing he and Steve both thought of when they woke up was each other. He can deal with a rubber band hitting him in the forehead if it means Steve is waiting on the other end of this day.

Christmas is approaching quickly, though, and Bucky is starting to worry. Becca has been texting him at least once a day reminding him to tell their ma that he’s bringing someone to dinner, but he’s been avoiding the problem as long as possible. It’s today or never, though, because Becca texted him during first period.

**Ma just told me that you’re not bringing a date, and she’s going to have one of the cousins bring someone for you if you don’t.**

Bucky had taken a deep breath at that; he’d been set up with cousins’ friends before, and they were almost always terrible. A few of them had been nice, and he’d even gone on a handful of subsequent dates with one of them. But one time, memorably, the woman had made a rude comment under her breath about Bucky’s arm, and that had been enough for him. He’d left the family’s Easter get-together without another word, and his ma had been mad at him for weeks before Becca had told her what the woman had said.

This time, though. This time, Bucky _has_ a date. He can stop her from finding someone for him. He just has to _tell_ her.

Which is the hard part.

So he calls her fifteen minutes into his lunch break, after he’s gotten up the courage to dial the number, and bites his bottom lip hard as he waits for her to answer.

“Hello?” his mom answers.

“Hey, Ma, it’s me.”

“James! I was going to call you today, but I didn’t want to bug you during school.” Bucky smiles and rolls his eyes. His ma has called him during school hours plenty of times—once, memorably, in the middle of a final exam when the volume on his phone had been turned up far too loud.

“Thanks, Ma, that’s real nice of you. What did you need to talk about?”

“You can go first! You called me,” she says, and Bucky can tell she wants him to defer to her. Her voice seems positively bursting with something.

“No, it’s okay. Go ahead.”

“I think I found you a date for Christmas dinner!” she says, almost explosively.

“Oh,” Bucky says, quiet. “That’s, uh, actually what I was calling about.”

“She’s your cousin Angie’s friend!” his mom adds, excitedly.

“Actually, Ma,” Bucky starts.

“Angie says she’s very nice. Short, with brown hair. Just your type!” _I don’t know where you got that idea,_ Bucky thinks. _But tall, blond Steve Rogers is going to be a real surprise to you in more ways than one._

“Ma,” Bucky tries again.

“James, don’t try to tell me that you don’t need a date to Christmas dinner. You need a date to Christmas dinner. You’re always the only one there by yourself, and I know it makes you sad. So we found someone for you.”

“Becca’s going to be by herself.”

“Becca is five years younger than you.”

“Ma—”

“No buts, James. Angie’s friend sounds like a doll. You’ll like her, I’m sure.”

“Have you invited her yet?”

“Technically, no, but I was going to ask Angie to—”

“Ma, don’t have Angie call her.”

He hears a long sigh on the other end of the phone. He’s been through this with his ma so many times, and he knows it’s as old for her as it is for him, but he needs her to listen this time. It’s important this time. “James. Please. Just give it a try, I’m sure it’ll go better than you think it will. I just don’t want you to—”

“I’m already bringing someone, Ma.”

“—be sad again, I hate the look you get when you’re sad.”

“Ma. Did you not hear what I just said?”

“No, did you say something?”

Now it’s Bucky’s turn to sigh. “Yeah, Ma, I said I’m actually already bringing someone.”

Her response is immediate. “ _You’re bringing a date?_ ”

“Yeah, Ma.”

_“To Christmas dinner?”_

“Yes, that is what I meant.”

“Oh, wait until I tell your father! What kind of pie should I make her?”

Bucky laughs. “They’ll like anything you make them.”

“What’s her favorite, though?”

“Apple.”

There’s a pause at the other end of the line. “You actually asked her what her favorite pie is?”

“Yes, Ma, because I knew you’d want to know.”

“Oh, I’m so excited to meet her.”

“I’m excited for you to meet them, too, Ma.”

_Terrified, but excited._

-

_i told ma i’m bringing a date._

**did you tell her that steve’s a man?**

_no, i skillfully avoided that information._

**so you’re just going to walk in with a six-foot-something man on your arm?**

_yeah, that’s the plan._

**wow. ballsy.**

_thanks, becca._

_-_

Bucky spends the rest of his afternoon imagining all the ways he could introduce Steve to his parents.

_This is Steve._

_This is my boyfriend, Steve._

_This is Steve. He’s my date._

_Hi, Ma. Pa. This is Steve. He’s my boyfriend._

_This is Steve, isn’t he beautiful? Just wait until he starts talking, you’ll like him even more._

_-_

_This is Steve. I love him and I haven’t told him yet._

_-_

Peggy notices that he’s distracted. “Are you okay?” she asks, and Bucky realizes that he must look incredibly distracted if Peggy is stooping so low as to ask him if he’s okay. Peggy usually hates asking him open-ended questions.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“You and Steve are still…?”

“Me and Steve are still,” Bucky assures her.

If he and Steve weren’t still, there is no way he would have been able to drag himself to school.

-

“Hey!” Bucky says, when Steve answers the phone.

“Hey!” Steve’s voice is a little confused, but it seems happy, too, and Bucky focuses on that. “Is something up?”

“Why?”

“Well, you never call me. Also, we already made plans for tonight.”

“Oh. Sorry, do you have to go?”

“No! It’s fine,” Steve says, and the soft way he says it makes Bucky’s heartbeat calm down a little bit. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Bucky says, and he’s starting to believe it now. Maybe it’s nothing, maybe this is nothing, maybe he can do this. “Just…do you want to tell me about your day?”

“I’m going to see you later tonight, you know.”

“I know,” Bucky says. “Sorry, you can tell me later.”

“I sketched most of the day. I think I’ve got a new character.” He pauses. “I might be doing a graphic novel.”

“ _Really?_ ” Bucky asks, excited. “Like a full-length one?”

“Yeah, a friend of a friend contacted me today, actually. Said Natasha had shown them my work and they knew someone who was looking for an illustrator for a self-published thing. Asked if I was interested.”

“Oh my God, Steve.”

“Yeah, I’m trying not to get too excited. I have to submit my portfolio still, of course.”

“But still. That’s huge.”

“It might be.”

“It _is,”_ Bucky says. “Do you want to tell me more about it? Do you have time?”

And Bucky tips back and lays on his bed as Steve’s voice picks up speed, telling Bucky every last detail he knows about the project. Bucky loves the way Steve talks about his projects, like they’re precious, because they are. Bucky stares at his ceiling and draws his knees up so his feet are planted on the bed. He holds his phone to his ear and lets it get sweaty as Steve keeps talking. Bucky could listen to this for hours.

He finds himself smiling, small and easy.

-

It’s okay. This is okay. It’s going to be okay.

-

_This is Steve. I love him and I haven’t told him yet._

_-_

“I have to go,” Bucky says. “I need to change for our date.”

“Are you still wearing your school clothes?”

“Yeah,” Bucky says. “A little formal for the movies.”

“Did anyone throw up on you today?”

“No, why?”

“Don’t change, I like your teacher clothes.”

“Steve Rogers, if you call me Mr. Barnes again, I swear—”

“I’m not going to call you Mr. Barnes again. I just want everyone to know that I’m dating the hot teacher.”

Bucky groans. “ _Stop_ ,” he says. “It’s not funny, it’s caused so many uncomfortable situations.”

“You’ll have to tell me about those later.”

“I get a lot of valentines in February. That’s about all you need to know.”

And Bucky tucks his phone between his shoulder and his cheek so his arm can be free to gather his wallet and keys. He shrugs his coat on, dropping the phone only once ( _Shit, fuck, don’t say anything important, did you say anything important?_ ), and leaving the apartment without telling Steve that he’s doing so.

-

And he’s at Steve’s then, ten minutes later, knocking on the door, and their conversation has no seam. He keeps talking until Steve’s opened the door and they can hang up their phones.

“Hi,” Bucky says.

“Hi.” Steve kisses him then.

“Can I sleep here tonight?” Bucky asks.

“Aren’t we going to a movie?”

“Yes, I mean after the movie.”

“Isn’t it a school night?”

“Yeah. And if you don’t want me to, it’s totally fine. Sorry. Maybe I shouldn’t have—”

“I’d love if you slept here tonight,” Steve says. “Actually, please do.”

Bucky grins, and he’s not sure where the panic from earlier has gone, but Steve is smiling at him now, and his lips taste like whatever coffee Steve’s been drinking, and he can feel the ghost of Steve’s hand on the small of his back even as Steve pulls away to grab his jacket, and Bucky thinks that maybe this really is going to be okay.

When Steve grabs his hand to go, Bucky thinks maybe he really _can_ just walk in with a six-foot-something man on his arm. He’s pretty sure he can do it, if the six-foot-something man is Steve.

-

They go to see _It’s a Wonderful Life_ at the discount theater. Bucky makes a show of paying for both of their tickets.

“As my congratulations on the possible graphic novel job, I will pay for your four dollar movie ticket.”

“Wow,” Steve says. “My hero.” But he’s grinning and pulling Bucky in closer, so Bucky thinks that maybe Steve understands that he’s being serious.

Just in case it’s not clear, though, Bucky leans in close, his lips just barely touching Steve’s ear, in that way he knows makes Steve shiver. “I’ll save the better congratulations for later tonight.”

Steve takes a deep breath and keeps staring straight ahead. “ _So_ ,” he says, a little too loud, a little too excitedly. “Movie!” And Bucky laughs, because Steve is so easy to rile up, and Bucky’s looking forward to years of using that to his advantage.

“So. Movie.”

-

Bucky’s been to this movie theater a thousand times before. He brought a girlfriend or two here when he was in high school, because the auditoriums were usually pretty empty, and it was cheap, and he hadn’t had a lot of money in high school. Bucky has distinct memories of Melissa Moore’s hand going up his shirt in the third row with _Spider-Man 2_ playing in the background. He thought, maybe, it’d be weird to bring someone here now, but Steve has a way of making everything seem like new, like the first time.

So they sit in the first row on the left side, where there are only two seats and they can put their feet up. Bucky pulls a bag of M&Ms out of his pocket, wiggling his eyebrows at Steve. “Always have a backup bag of candy,” he says.

“What a rebel.”

“I live life on the edge, Rogers.”

“I’d never claim any different,” Steve says.

“Middle school science teacher? Basically a spy.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

Bucky reaches to start eating the candy, but Steve grabs his hand to stop him. “You can’t start before the opening credits roll,” he says, a bit scandalized.

“Why not?” Bucky asks.

“Because that’s not how it works.”

Bucky laughs. “Okay, fine.”

So he waits until the movie starts, then stares Steve right in the eye as he rips the bag open. He holds it out to Steve.

“Really? You’re willing to share your smuggled candy with me?” Steve asks.

“I must really, really like you, Steve Rogers.”

“Lucky me.”

-

When Steve holds his hand in that movie theater, it feels a bit like something clicking into place. Bucky splits his time between watching the movie and watching Steve, but his attention is diverted from both by the smooth glide of Steve’s thumb against his skin. Every time Bucky thinks he can focus on something else, Steve’s thumb skips back to the gap between Bucky’s thumb and first finger and makes its way up. It’s soft and subtle and one of the most distracting things Bucky’s ever experienced.

-

After the movie, they stumble outside, and it’s snowing. Bucky laughs to himself because _of course._ _Steve is perfect, this is all perfect, of course we also get the fat, fluffy snowflakes, and of course Steve has the ethereal look again, of course. Because he’s perfect._

_-_

“Merry Christmas Eve Eve, Steve,” Bucky says, after they’ve stood watching the snow fall for a few minutes.

“I thought you said I was Dr. Seuss.”

“Shut up, that was a coincidence.”

“It was also not my fault that _eight_ and _date_ rhyme, and yet you blamed me for that.”

Bucky rolls his eyes and starts pulling Steve back in the direction of Steve’s apartment. “Whatever, just take me home.”

“Are you sure it’s okay for you to stay at my apartment tonight? Won’t you be too tired for school tomorrow?”

Bucky raises an eyebrow and smirks. “That sure you’re going to tire me out, huh, Steve?” he teases, just to see Steve stammer. He’s not disappointed.

-

Later that night, far later than Bucky should have stayed up on a school night but far earlier than Bucky wants to be going to bed, Steve has his head tucked under Bucky’s chin and face pressed to Bucky’s chest, their limbs as twisted together.

“Merry Christmas Eve Eve, Bucky,” Steve mutters against Bucky’s skin, almost asleep.

“Goodnight, Steve.” And he thinks about saying it, then.

-

_This is Steve. I love him and I haven’t told him yet. I need to tell him._


End file.
